The Siege of Kirkwall
by bojangles25
Summary: With Meredith dead, and the Circle rebelling, a Templar army makes its way to Kirkwall to restore order. Having been elected the new Viscount, Garret Hawke and his companions must lead their own army to defend their home. Hawke/OC romance. Rated M, for future violence and language.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, fellow Dragon Age fans. Hope you like. :) It will switch POV from chapter to chapter, between Hawke and his companions.**

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A bolt of lightning split the sky, its jagged features a harsh white against the deep purple of the early morning sky. The accompanying rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath Garrett Hawke's feet, made windows rattle. It was a fitting beginning to a day that promised to bring a storm of a different nature. The streets were empty, and not just because of the hour. Since the first troops made camp outside the city walls, no one seemed to leave their homes unless necessary. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the streets, a harsh contrast against the dark armor Hawke wore that morning. He never left home without that armor on, though it had nothing to do with fear, but rather the image he projected while donning his Champion armor. While other, less learned nobles may worry of some stray rock or arrow falling from the sky to slay them, Hawke knew better. The Templars had no intention of an actual fight. They were too confident, too full of themselves, to believe Kirkwall would stand against them. They expected to spend a few days camping beneath the walls, or rocking aboard a ship in bay, waiting for the frightened nobles to grow frightened and cede the city to them. And if Hawke tried to rally a force to fight the Templars, to convince the nobles to fight, well, they could handle one man, couldn't they?

Luckily for the Champion of Kirkwall, half the nobles fully believed he could lead them to victory in the coming battle, while the other half were frightened enough to support Hawke, whether they wanted to or not. Those half would need to be watched, and were being watched. Kirkwall may be a large, secure city, but it only took one traitor with sufficient knowledge to allow a small Templar force into the city, dooming them to lose the battle. Hawke would have to keep an eye on them all during this meeting this morning, see which may be hatching a plan even now. At least one of them would be, and likely a group would already have a plan. The merchants were being watched as well as they were the ones suffering the most ever since Hawke ordered the city closed, with no one allowed to enter or leave. Not for the first time in the two weeks since he killed Meredith, Hawke found himself wondering why he agreed to become Viscount. He did not desire such power, did not seek it. There had never been some plan to take power at any point. It just seemed the right thing to do, with Kirkwall in such chaos after the events Anders set in motion, to agree to sit that damnable seat after he was elected. To not do so would render the sacrifices of everyone who fought against Meredith's tyranny meaningless. The Templars would have simply strolled into Kirkwall, murdered every mage within the Gallows, and retaken control, Hawke's fight nothing more than an easily erasable and forgettable blip in the story of the city. Besides, when had Hawke ever refused to do what was right? He would need to learn to say the word no one day, but today was not that day.

The rising shadow of the Viscount's Keep rose before Hawke, the dull glow of torches dim against the darkness. Another flash of lightning, and the entirety of the structure was lit before his eyes, an impressive structure that stood tall amongst the estates of Hightown. Two of the city guard stood flanked the entrance, nodding in Hawke's direction as he entered. Inside the city guard were the only presence to be seen, standing guard at doorways and patrolling the halls. Normally there would be servants scrubbing steps and floors, dusting bookshelves, performing the daunting task of cleaning the massive palace before petitioners arrived, but not that morning. Hawke had closed the Palace to everyone but the City Guard, the only exception being meeting such as the one he was about to attend. Aveline was speaking with three of her men, nodding his way as he passed. She was one of the few of his friends and companions that stuck around to fight this battle, mainly because she was too damn proud to leave. The City Guard were hers, and she would never abandon them. Hawke couldn't have been happier she stayed. Aveline was a veteran soldier, who served in King Cailan Theirin's army at Ostagar. The redheaded warrior had made it her duty to prepare her men for battle, with the Guard's days consisting mainly of nonstop training. While Hawke had also fought in the military, he was no veteran, and having fought alongside the redheaded warrior, he could think of no one he trusted or believed in to train an army than Aveline.

The frightened murmur of the nobles reached Hawke's ears before he opened the door to the larger of two council chambers within the Viscount's Keep. Inside, he found the thirty heads of noble families he had requested the presence of, seated around the massive oval shaped table that dominated the room. Their conversations all stopped immediately, every head turning the Champion's way. At the head of the table stood the Viscount's chair, a horribly oversized monstrosity of elaborate carvings, the herald of Kirkwall stitched into the plush back with golden thread and carved into the armrests. It looked comfortable, until one sat in the cursed thing. In a corner near that chair, Orana stood by to serve them. Hawke took the seat, and a deep breath. "Thank you for coming, my lords and ladies. Let me start by updating you on the situation. As of last night there are a thousand Templar troops encamped outside our walls, with another five hundred mercenaries and poorly armed peasants. More will assuredly arrive in the coming days. Late last night, a messenger appeared at the gates with terms." Hawke nodded at Orana, who handed him the parchment being discussed. "These terms were addressed to 'The Champion and Nobles of Kirkwall.' I am to surrender myself, my companions, those mages within the Circle, open the city gates, and await judgment. All noble families are to stay within their homes and refrain from participation in any battle that may occur, under threat of severe punishment. If these demands are not met within one week, then their army will attack the city."

Once he was done summarizing the contents of the letter, he passed it to the person to his right, letting everyone else read for themselves. "What are the numbers of our own forces?" Lord Harold Phillipe asked, the second youngest of the nobles in the room.

"Seven hundred. Five hundred City Guard, one hundred mercenaries from Bloody Claw, and one hundred volunteers from both your families and Lowtown. In a week, our numbers will approach as much as eleven-hundred, I assure you." At the moment, there were two hundred and fifty recruits in training, and Hawke could get at least another hundred to join and be ready to fight in a week. Although he doubted the Templars would actually attack in one week.

"And what will the Templars number?" Lord Varran asked, a cowardly, fat old man who Hawke fully expected to try and betray the city.

"I cannot accurately predict that number. Certainly much more than we will be able to field. I feel confident that they will not field an overwhelming force, because they are not expecting the fight we will give them." Hawke leaned forward, the chair already bothering him, and folded his hands together on the table. "You've all received your chance to leave already. It is too late to change your mind. If you are having second thoughts, forget them. Understood." The nobles nodded, some with complete conviction and others numbly, fear plain on their faces. Hawke took note of which applied to each of them. "We have food to last months. We have rebuilt the walls around Lowtown over the past two years, and even if Lowtown were to fall we can force the Templars into a long, bloody battle on the steps leading here. We will win this fight, I promise you." What they would do after that, when the Templars regrouped and came back with a bigger army, Hawke could not say. The rest of the meeting was bogged down in a numbers discussion. How much food was in their stores, how many weapons they had, how many soldiers, the amount of gold the merchants, and in turn the nobles, would lose as a result of the city's gates being closed. When the meeting was over, Hawke waited for the others to leave, as always. Once the chamber was empty, he stood, legs asleep and ass numb. Orana was still standing in the corner, silent as ever, but she offered a weak smile in his direction. The two of them left together for the trek back to Hawke's mansion.

The lightning was no longer cracking across the gradually lightening sky, replaced by a light drizzle that steadily increased as Hawke and his servant drew closer to home. Once inside, the Champion was glad to see that a fire was still burning in the hearth. Bodahn was awake, of course, sorting a stack of envelopes on the desk. Hawke asked Orana to help the dwarf cook breakfast, and headed up the stair, a spring in his step. He removed his boots outside the door to his bedroom, and opened the door slowly, as quietly as he could. A loud protest from the hinges announced his failure. Luckily, the beautiful creature in his bed was not awoken, moaning as she rolled over but her eyes staying closed. Hawke took a seat on the bed, studying the features of her face, features he found absolutely lovely, more than any woman he'd ever met. The cute little ears, the perfectly formed lips, the slightly too large nose, the soft expression that he knew from experience could change to one capable of frightening the most hardened warrior. Even with her eyes closed, their green color was burned into his memory. Her light brown hair was disheveled from sleep, making her even more irresistible. As if on command, her eyelids fluttered, slowly opening, two flawless emeralds sleepily staring at him. "Good morning, love," she said.

"Good morning, Vivienne," Hawke responded. He would have lay down next to his wife, but he still had his armor on, and it was too late in the morning to bother taking it all off.

Vivienne sat up in bed, smiling at him, the perfect ivory of her teeth yet another feature he found lovely. Teeth, what a lovestruck fool he had become. "You do not look to be having the best morning, Garrett."

"When am I ever happy after a meeting with my fellow nobles? They are frightened, and I cannot blame them. I expect that at least half of them are trying to sell me out to the Templars, and if that doesn't work they will make plans to flee the city. I expect grave doubts among my most loyal supporters. The only ones truly on my side, who I know will stand by me, are my friends. Aveline knows nothing but duty, and will fight to the end. Bethany is my blood. Merrill is too good natured to betray me. I would have wondered about Varric a few years ago, but while he may not stay around until the end, I know he will be loyal, and face me like a man if he does decide to leave." Hawke couldn't help but wish that Fenris was here. Sebastian was never truly loyal to him, nor was Isabela. Anders was dead because of his foolish actions. While Fenris had not fought against Hawke after the destruction of the Chantry, he had left afterwards, their friendship irreparably damaged.

"I am also by your side, my love," Vivienne said, placing a hand on Hawke's cheek.

"I hope your father is as well."

He regretted the comment immediately, knowing what his wife's reaction would be. As expected, she looked away, removed her hand from his cheek, her smile seamlessly turning into a frown, a frown that always asked the question, "When can we forget the circumstances behind our marriage and just love each other?" In a perfect world, Garret Hawke would be allowed to do just that. This was not a perfect world, however. Vivienne's frown left her face as she threw the blankets off of her and swung out of bed, completely bare. She stopped to give Hawke a kiss on the cheek before gathering her clothes out of the closet and walking into the bathroom, where Hawke could see the steam rising from the bath and smell the fragrances and oils within. Bodahn had already visited that morning, it seemed. Before she closed the door, Hawke stood from the bed and placed his hand on it, keeping the door open. "I'm sorry, my love. I did not mean to cause offense. You know that I love you, that I am only truly allowed to be at peace when I am at home with you, do you not?"

Vivienne smiled her smile again. "I know all of this, and can only hope you know that I feel the same towards you." She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, careful not to let her bare skin come in contact with the sharp edges of Hawke's armor. After she had closed the door, the Champion found himself standing there for a few moments, thoughts entirely on his wife of a year. Vivienne Freamin was the only daughter and second child of Anton and Jeanne Freamin, a family whose wealth and influence was among the greatest of the noble families of Kirkwall, and also one of the oldest families as well, their roots having implanted themselves in the city during the final years of the Tevinter Imperium's rule over Kirkwall. Hawke's marriage to Vivienne could be accredited to his mother, despite Leandra Hawke's death years before. Mother had dedicated a lot of time to finding a match for her son, and despite his protests to the idea had never given up. It was through his mother that Hawke first met Vivienne, at a party the Freamins had hosted to celebrate Hawke's ascension to Champion. A purely political affair that Hawke had very nearly skipped out on, but ultimately decided to go to because he had skipped another similar function days earlier. Mother wasted no time in introducing him to a variety of daughters and divorced ladies of various ages, and while Hawke treated them all with respect, he left their presence at the first available opportunity.

Three hours had passed since his arrival at the party before Mother brought Vivienne across the room to meet him, a determined look on her face that told her son she was determined to find someone he liked. Hawke was grateful, because it allowed him a chance to escape a dreadfully boring conversation with three lords whose names he did not even know at the time. The first thing Hawke noticed about his future wife, as Mother made the introductions, was Vivienne's eyes. Such a shining emerald color, with a confidence and belief in herself that Hawke was not used to with the noble ladies Kirkwall. They were all so timid, so nervous, the pressure from the heads of their households on them to impress Hawke. Vivienne seemed right away to be a proud woman who was interested, but would not beg. By the end of the night, Hawke was grinning foolishly, completely infatuated. The two of them spent two hours exchanging small talk of no importance, and that was enough. When the night ended, Hawke found himself stumbling over his words while asking to see her again.

Hawke's genuine interest in Vivienne made their eventual marriage easier, even if the reasons were purely political. Despite his thinking the opposite would happen after Mother's death, the pressure on the Champion of Kirkwall only grew through the years, especially as he found himself the one calming influence within the storm that was Meredith and Orsino's feud. Knowing he would eventually have to choose a side, and knowing he would need the support that a family such as his could provide, Anton Freamin approached Hawke with the marriage proposal. The two of them sat in Hawke's office within his mansion, an untouched platter of cheeses and crackers sitting next to an unopened bottle of the best wine Hawke had in his cellar, while Anton promised the full support of his family if Hawke would marry his only daughter. Obviously this was not to be done out of the goodness of Freamin's heart, he craved the status that being an in-law to the Champion of Kirkwall would bring his family, but Hawke knew that the older man was right. The day would come when he would need to choose a side, and when that day came the support of a noble with Anton's influence would be invaluable. Hawke agreed to the betrothal, the two shaking hands and sealing the pact with a glass of wine. Three months later, in a grand ceremony within Chantry, every important figure in the city in attendance, Garrett Hawke and Vivienne Freamin were married.

Anton Freamin more than lived up to his word in the aftermath of Anders' destruction of the Chantry. Hours after the news reached the rest of the city of Meredith's death at Hawke's hands, the nobles voted Hawke the new Viscount, and were lining up to profess their loyalty. There were some holdouts, but they lasted no more than a day. After Hawke held council with the nobles for the first time, Kirkwall's path was set, and gold, weapons, and children were pledged to the coming battle. Hawke held no illusions that these nobles would stay loyal if the Templars were to breach the city, in fact he expected most of them to sell him out as soon as the chance presented itself, even Anton, but by that point their support would no longer matter. He would have his army. May of these nobles' children had joined Hawke's makeshift army, most of them young, green, and enthusiastic, though some were proven warriors, and he knew he could count on those families to stay loyal, at least.

A knock on the door interrupted Hawke as he was eating his breakfast with his wife, Bethany walking into the kitchen moments after Bodahn opened the door. He stood to greet his sister, as did Vivienne. Leaving his breakfast unfinished, he led Bethany out of the dining room, the two of them walking over to the desk where Hawke's letters still sat unread. "Do you ever read your letters, brother?" Bethany asked.

"Yes, but I like to procrastinate as long as possible," he joked.

"Always the joker, Garrett," Bethany said fondly. "How did your council go this morning?"

"Same as every day. They all support me, half out of belief and idolization and the other half out of fear, both of me and your mages."

"They are not my mages," Bethany said, not for the first time.

"My apologies," Hawke said, a wisecracking smile on his face. "How are things in the Gallows?"

An all too brief smile came to his sister's face. "We are as scared as everyone else, but we are hopeful. What we did, defeating Meredith, it was unthinkable to so many of us. She was the symbol that kept mages cowering in fear. Now that she's dead, the idea of victory, of freedom, it is no longer so laughable, no longer a reality we can only visit in our dreams. You need not worry about whether we will be able to fight, no one will fight harder."

Hawke was glad to hear that, but also a little frightened. If the battle were to grow desperate, the possibility of blood magic and demons running loose through the city was great. With Bethany among a group of seasoned, experienced mages training them for the coming battle, he could only hope the mages retained control of themselves. Hawke took a seat at the desk, exhaling as he did so. "Did you hear about the letter that came?"

Bethany nodded. "I don't suppose we will be surrendering ourselves?" Hawke snorted. "I'm sure a few eyes lit up with opportunity when you read that in council."

"Of course. They are being watched."

"That's good." Bethany walked away from the desk, aimlessly wandering around, stopping to look at various random objects. "I remember how happy Mother was to have this estate back. I wonder what she would think of what is happening. She would probably be just as torn over what to do as the rest of us."

Hawke considered that for a moment. "I believe she would have supported us. Or hope so, anyway. Family and doing the right thing always mattered to her more than status or wealth. I'm sure she would have been the loudest of the voices telling me to stop Meredith, if for no other reason than to make sure you were safe."

Bethany made her way back over to where he sat. "I miss her so much. Even after all these years, I would wake up on the days she used to visit, looking forward to seeing her. We've lost so much, Garrett, and we still find ourselves fighting, never allowed a moment of peace. No matter what happens, I hope we can find a moment of peace when this is over."

"Not very likely," Hawke said. "If we win, the Templars will return. If we lose, we'll either be dead or on the run."

Bethany pushed him gently. "Maker's breath, you cannot indulge me by telling me my fantasy is possible?"

"Sorry." Hawke chuckled. "How about this? If we win, we'll have a week or two of peace while the Templars rebuild their army. If we are on the run, at least we won't be fighting. Maybe we can find an isolated plot of land to live on, away from civilization, where we won't be found."

"You're making running sound like the best option," Bethany joked. Still, it made Hawke think if maybe she was right.

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**This chapter was a lot of setup, but it was necessary setup. I'll be updating this on a weekly basis, at the latest, review at your leisure, though I'd like to get a solid number of reviews every few chapters, just to be sure people are reading it. No need to be kind, if I've made mistakes or there's something you think I should go a different direction with, let me know. I am always opened to suggestions of any kind, and will take every single suggestion into consideration.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, if I don't get any reaction to this chapter I will stop writing this. For any who might have liked the first chapter, hope you like this one too.**

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Merrill giggled, her eyes widening as her friend told the story. "Oh, I know that look. I have seen it many a time."

"It is so scary," Orana said. "I still am not used to it. I cannot imagine anyone standing up to him when Messere Hawke has that look in his eye."

Merrill giggled again. "Only his sister, and Vivienne. His mother was well, before she died." The elf missed Leandra. She was the nicest human woman Merrill ever met, and the only one to never treat her differently because she was an elf. "One time we were walking the Wounded Coast when a gang of mercenaries tried to rob us. All Hawke did was give that look, say a few threatening words, and they ran off like frightened da'len."

"I believe it," Orana said. "Messere Hawke bears so many burdens, I try to stay out of his way these days, for fear I will anger him and be the target of his wrath."

"You need not worry," Merrill assured her friend. Orana had been in Hawke's service for years now, a free woman, and while she had slowly grown use to her freedom, the habits and fears she had as a slave were still present from time to time. Especially when she was around Hawke, Merrill noticed. "I have seen servants make mistakes far worse than any you would make, and Hawke does not even raise his voice at them. And if he ever did, you tell me and I will set him straight." Merrill hoped that Orana understood that last sentence to be in jest. She never knew with her elven friend. Is this what she was look all those years, the bawdy jokes exchanged in the Hanged Man flying over her head like a hunter's assan.

Orana's laugh told Merrill that the joke was understood. The elven servant stood from her chair. "Oh, what would you like me to tell Messere?"

Merrill jumped, the purpose of Orana's visit forgotten, as it often was when the two began sharing tales. "Tell him I will bring everything by later. And he doesn't have to help, if he wants to he can, but I don't need him, it shouldn't be that hard to managed by myself." She stopped herself, realizing she was rambling, and that Orana never interrupted her rambling. "I'm sorry, did you understand all that?"

It was the servant's turn to giggle. "Yes, I can understand your rambling now. I will tell Messer Hawke that you will bring what he asks later, and that you do not need his help to do so. Is that okay?"

"Perfect!" The two women said their goodbyes, and Merrill was left standing at the table, her home in the alienage growing hot and muggy as the day grew warmer. Left alone, she reluctantly turned her eyes to the corner of the room, where herbs, roots, leaves, and various other crafting reagents lay nestled inside pots, jars, and crates on five shelves nailed to the walls. Much as she did not want to return to her work, Orana's unexpected visit having been much welcomed, Merrill shuffled over to the shelves and checked the boxes on the floor. A sizable number of medicines and potions already lay completed inside, but they were not enough. A heavy sigh escaped her lips before Merrill rifled through the notes on the table below the shelves, finding the recipe for the medicines she was to make. After making so many, the recipe was not truly necessary, but the elf liked to follow it anyway. Otherwise her mind might wander, or she might grow curious about what would happen if a different ingredient was added.

The past two weeks had proven a much welcomed respite after so many weeks of constant battle and strife, culminating in the battles against Orsino and Meredith. Merrill had followed Hawke without question or doubt, but she was mortal, and needed this period of rest before the next round of fighting. Two days after Meredith's death, Merrill naively asked Hawke, "Is that it? Will the Templars leave us alone now?"

"No, Merrill," he answered, the same amused smile he always had when she asked something stupid. "They will be back, in greater numbers."

"Should we leave before they get here?"

"No," Hawke told her, the complete authority in his tone that never failed to inspire confidence in the elf. "I will not leave my sister and the rest of the mages to suffer that fate." That had been the end of that discussion. Hawke was going to fight, and if he was going to fight then so was Merrill. After so many years by his side, she had no reason to doubt Hawke now, and leaving without him was simply not an option.

Hours passed, the elf absorbed in her work. Crate after box after crate was filled with potions and salves, piling up next to her. Merrill hated that she had agreed to do this. She had the knowledge, any First, and most Dalish, at least learned how to use nature's gifts to create basic medicines, but she had always hated it, preferring to study and improve her magical abilities. Still, she wanted to do her part to help, and since the Circle mages, no, they weren't Circle mages anymore, the mages did not want anything to do with her because of her blood magic, there was little else she could do besides apply the crafting knowledge she had always hated. When she was finally done for the day, Merrill lifted the first crate, not as heavy as the contents inside might suggest it should be. She was about to place it back down so she could open her front door when a knock came. "Come in," she shouted.

Pawel was hesitant to enter, as always, opening the door very slowly, almost annoyingly so. She said to come in, why can't he just come in? When he had finally come inside, holding the front door open, he smiled shyly and waved. "Hello, Merrill, I was wondering if you would need help with that," he said. The mage looked at her friend confusedly. "The Elder told me what you were doing. I thought I'd help carry the boxes."

"That would save me so much time, I'd love the help." Pawel smiled again and hurried to the corner where the boxes were, carrying two of them in his arms, one stacked atop the other. The two of them walked silently until they reached the imposing stairs leading to Hightown, always the worst part of the trip. Merrill absolutely hated shoes, but had started carrying a pair in a small pack after a few years, just for these stairs alone. She placed her box on the ground, removed the shoes, made of cheap, brown dyed leather, and put them on. They were as uncomfortable as ever. "Do you think you could tell Messere Hawke something for me?" Pawel asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Is it something you can't tell him yourself? Not that I mind telling him for you, I'm just wondering."

"I guess I could. I wanted you to tell him how grateful everyone in the Alienage is that he is allowing us to fight." Pawel shifted the boxes he was carrying in his arms, the weight and the length he had been carrying them beginning to strain him. Merrill was feeling it was well. "Kirkwall is our home as well, and we want to defend it."

"He'd be happy to hear that from you," Merrill told him. "If he isn't there to greet us when we reach his mansion, wait around and I'll bring him to you."

Pawel smiled nervously. "I, I would very much like that. Thank you, Merrill."

"Of course." Merrill considered what he had said as they walked. The two of them decided to take a break just past halfway up the stairs. With no one else walking them, they needed not worry about obstructing traffic when they sat down. "Why would you want to thank him for letting you fight? I would think elves would be the first offered up to fight in defense of the city?" While the prejudice did not apply to Hawke, Merrill knew that many of the other nobles would not hesitate for a moment to sacrifice her people in battle before sending their own friends and family.

"That only applies when they are sending us somewhere far from home to die," Pawel said bitterly. Merrill had known him for many years now, and the subject of their oppression always brought that angry tint to his eyes. "They wouldn't trust us to defend our homes, they assume we are not reliable, that we will take the first opportunity presented to betray them. Never mind that they think we are not capable fighters."

Merrill regretted bringing up the subject now. "Hawke does not think that way. You need not every worry that he thinks less of you."

Pawel smiled, which made Merrill feel much better. She never intended to dampen his mood to begin with. "That is why I wish to thank him."

Unfortunately, Hawke was unable to greet them when they arrived, as he was meeting with some noble in his office. Merrill apologized to Pawel, who took the news in stride and seemed almost relieved, and promised to tell Hawke what the elf had wanted to say. She stuck around, knowing that Hawke would not take anymore time than was needed with whoever he was meeting. She followed Bodahn into the kitchen, where he was beginning dinner. Something about watching the dwarf cook always fascinated her. There was a frantic energy about the kitchen as he and the other cooks worked that was so much fun to work. They would never say a word, the subtlest of gestures all they needed to know what someone else wanted. They chopped vegetables and rolled meats in herbs and stirred pots and baked bread, never getting in the way of anyone else. The kitchen staff was a blend of every raced. Bodahn was one of two dwarfs. There were three elves and two humans as well. Not a hint of prejudice was to be found in that kitchen though, against all odds. Hawke's influence did not fail to affect anyone that met him, she thought amusedly.

Orana was on an errand with Hawke's wife, so Merrill was forced to occupy herself by staring a paintings while waiting. Somehow she managed to entertain herself enough that it seemed like no time at all had passed before Hawke snuck up on her, startling her with his hands on her back. "OH!" she shrieked, jumping around. "Why do you always do that to me, Hawke?" she said, trying to sound annoyed and failing.

"Because it is easy," he said matter-of-factly. "What other reason do I need?"

Merrill shook her head. "You are so mean to me. I wish I could think of a way to get revenge on you."

Hawke shrugged. "You could always sell me out to the Templars. That would teach me a lesson." Merrill did not find that statement the least bit funny, and it must have shown on her face. "I apologize. That was not appropriate."

"It is alright, I just start thinking about what will happen to us if we lose when you jest in such a way." Merrill forced her thoughts away. "I brought half the boxes of potions and salves, I will be back with the others later tonight, if that is okay."

"Later tonight? Why so long?"

Merrill did not understand the question. "It is a long walk between her and Hightown."

Hawke sighed, confusing Merrill further. "Merrill, I told you to use the lifts to carry those up, so you wouldn't have to carry these items so far."

"I would rather bring them myself," Merrill insisted. "It is the only time any of us get to see you these days, when you need something of us." The words came out with unintended hostility.

Hawke cast his gaze downwards. "I know, and I do not intend things to be that way. There is so much to do, at all hours of the day. Believe me, Merrill, there is nothing more I would like than to sit at the Hanged Man with the rest of you, laughing and drinking and playing Wicked Grace."

She did not bother to tell him that those nights had ended for everyone. She had visited the Hanged Man once since Meredith's death, and that was only to speak with Varric about business. "When this is over, we will have a lot of nights to make up for, it seems."

"Yes, yes we will."

Hawke smiled that smile, the one she still loved, much as she tried not to. While their relationship had been very brief and ended amiably four years earlier, there would always be a part of Merrill that would love Hawke, even as she had readily and comfortably accepted that they would never be involved that way again. "Okay, Hawke, I will bring the rest to the lift as soon as I get home." She turned to leave, just remembering what Pawel and her had talked about. "Oh, that's right! Pawel wanted me to thank you on behalf of the entire Alienage for letting them fight. He's, well not excited, I am not sure how to describe it."

"Motivated?" Hawke offered.

"Yes! Very motivated, determined. Eager to defend his home, he has told me."

"Pawel is the man your age with the close-cropped auburn hair, correct? I believe I met him while helping Arianne."

Merrill smiled, surprised Hawke remembered. Of course he remembered, he's brilliant and cares about everyone. "Yes, that's him. He helped me carry the boxes, but decided to leave since you were busy. I tried to convince him to thank you himself, but he was far too nervous."

"Tell him that I am glad for his service. I doubt he will want to thank me when this is over, though. If he is even alive afterwards."

It was not often that Hawke spoke that way. Merrill frowned, looking away. "We will win, Hawke. You have a united front ready to defend Kirkwall at all costs. Hightown, Lowtown, the City Guard, the Alienage, even the Carta and some of the criminal organizations. The Templars will not expect us to fight with the ferocity I know we will. That will be their downfall." The speech was unexpected to even Merrill, the strength she found in her voice coming from some unknown source deep within her, a fire burning throughout her entire body. It was strange for her to attempt to brighten Hawke's spirits, but she knew she was right.

"You are absolutely right," Hawke said, the fire back in his eyes. "You do not need to worry about me, Merrill. These Templars will not take the city without the fight of their lives, without reducing Kirkwall to indefensible rubble. I promise that."

Walking back home and bringing the potions and salves to the lifts sapped the rest of Merrill's energy that day, even with Pawel's help. The sun set during her walk, and she found herself collapsing on her bed as soon as she reached the bedroom. Naturally, her gaze wandered to the corner of her bedroom where the Eluvian stood until a month ago. For a moment, she swore she saw light glinting off a shard on the ground, but when she left her bed to look, there was nothing. "Don't go down that road again, Merrill," she whispered to herself.

It was hard not to at least think about that stupid mirror. She spent nearly seven years literally pouring her life into the thing. The Eluvian had been the reason for the fallout with Hawke, the reason Marethari was dead, the reason Merrill could never return to the Dalish. Despite all that, she still had lingering regrets. Demon or no, the Eluvian was a piece of history, and she could not just forget something that was the reason for scars which would never leave her body. Scars she inflicted upon herself. Looking down at her hands, pulling her sleeves up, she frowned at the raised, discolored flesh covering them. What had she been thinking, listening to a demon? She could not explain, not even now. There must have been some power in the shards, even shattered as they were. Some unnatural influence must have dominated her mind. That made sense, considering the change in her the very moment she shattered the blasted thing.

She could not go a week without nightmares fueled by the memories of the demon. While she had a few friends within the Alienage, most knew her for what she had been and shunned her. Aveline still treated her like she was dangerous. The mages refused to accept any help from her, even with a good word about her on behalf of Bethany. In the eyes of so many, she was still the horrible blood mage, who should be feared and ignored.

That was fine, she thought as she lay back down in bed. She had Hawke, and Bethany, and Varric. She had Pawel and her other friends in the Alienage. Even if others hated and feared her, she had friends who liked her, cared for her, who counted on her. As long as she had them, no one else mattered. As she fell asleep, pulling the musty covers on her bed over her body, she was determined to fall asleep thinking of them, and not the Eluvian or the demon.

Yet later that night, she began to blink furiously, fighting a battle that became all too common for her.


	3. Chapter 3

"Faster!" Aveline shouted, her voice loud and made of steel as she shouted above the clangor of steel on steel and steel on wood. "Watch for those low cuts! Be more offensive with your shields! They are more use than just a piece of wood or steel to absorb a weapon's blow!" She cast a glance towards her husband, watching as Donnic put her words to practice, using his shield to knock his sparring partner off-balance. That brought a smile to her face, slight and ever so brief.

The training had been hard, but satisfying for a former soldier such as herself. The Guard-Captain's troops were determined to improve, always willing to listen to advice and train at all times, to a fault. In two and a half weeks of training five separate soldiers had injured themselves by pushing too hard, and two of those five injured themselves a second time. A week earlier Aveline had mandated strict hours for training and begun having her guardsmen lock up the weapons at night. The spirit of her soldiers was admirable, but it would do them no good if they were too weary to fight.

Aveline found it somewhat surprising, how much she enjoyed this. Never had she been put in charge of training an army, but it seemed to come natural to her. She supposed she had many years of regulating the training of her guardsman, and she and Hawke had always been willing to spar each other and any other companion of theirs willing to learn. This was the same idea, just on a much larger scale. The biggest obstacle she felt would present itself was her gender, she told Hawke as much when he approached her with the idea of leading this army's training. "They will not respect a woman in charge," she told him.

"I know you do not lack the skill for this task, so I assume you lack the confidence," Hawke said, striking her as always with the exact right words. "Do you not feel your skills are enough to MAKE them respect you?"

Aveline had fallen right into the trap, of course. "My ability to fight should not be in question."

"They are not in question, not with me, and not with your guardsmen. And if any of your trainees presume to question your abilities, you have my express permission to prove your skill." Hawke grinned.

On the morning of the first day, she settled any disrespect. It was the son of a proud noble, of course, wondering why the lowly Captain of the Guard was training them, and not Hawke himself. The fool had made the mistake of boasting that he was capable of besting any woman, and he would accept no training except from Messere Hawke himself. Aveline challenged him to test that boast, and the boy had no choice but to accept. She took no pleasure in the humiliation she handed out, and the only mercy she showed was in not killing or permanently injuring the young man. The cuts and bruises would heal quickly, and he would remember the lesson forever, as would everyone that watched. The story passed to every newcomer, and Aveline never had to prove herself in such a way again.

Aveline had never been one to sugarcoat the truth, and despite her admiration for the spirit of her troops, she could not find the hope Hawke had for the coming battle. Loghain may bear the brunt of the blame for Ostagar, but she had been there, had fought amongst the never ending swarms of darkspawn. She learned a very valuable lesson that day: Superior numbers will eventually overwhelm even the most disciplined and well-entrenched army. The army King Cailan Theirin had led into battle against the darkspawn horde was the best of the best, the finest army the noble families of Ferelden could field. She distinctly remembered all the great knights she had seen at that ancient Tevinter fortress. The Peasant Lord, his armor cheap and dented, his sword common. Merciless Marlon Harloy, small eyes cruel, yet his smile and voice friendly. The young Lord Wulff, his sword the finest Aveline ever lay eyes on. She even caught a glimpse of the young elf that would later become the Hero of Ferelden, though she obviously did not know that at the time. With so many great men and women fighting towards the same goal, she could not believe they would lose. Yet they had, because the darkspawn were too numerable, could not be cut down fast enough.

This army could not compare to that great host. The Templars would outnumber them at least three to one. What hope could they possibly have at victory? Aveline would not run, however. She knew the stakes when she made the choice to stand by Hawke at the Gallows. There were no illusions on her part that the Templars would simply accept defeat. If she was truly honest, she made her choice years ago, when she first met Hawke. If anyone could lead them to victory, it was that man, that impossibly charismatic and skilled man, who she had followed into battle for seven years without hesitation, who she had personally seen accomplish feats one would not think possible. Besides that, he was a brother to her, the truest friend she ever had, and she would never leave his side.

"Halt!" she shouted, voice ringing off the stone of the Keep's courtyard. "Rest, all of you. We begin again in an hour." She walked past her soldiers, into the Keep itself, striding to her office. The Keep was empty as always, outside of her guardsmen. They saluted her as she walked past, and she did the same. Once in her office, she threw herself into her chair, sighing heavily. The sound of her door opening barely registered to her hearing. When she opened her eyes, she saw the face of her husband Donnic, looking at her with concern. Aveline immediately sat straight in her chair. "Guardsmen, is there something you need?"

Donnic took a seat across from her at the desk. "I would ask you the same, Captain. You look quite exhausted."

"I am well," she said. Even with her husband, she tried not to be anything less than professional while on duty. "I will be able to continue when training begins again."

"Captain. Aveline, love, you are exhausted." Donnic's eyes softened with concern. The Guard-Captain could not help but soften herself before the man she loved. Their marriage was something else she owed to Hawke. As if her debts to him were not already vast. "You should stay here the rest of the day. Let yourself rest."

"I cannot," Aveline insisted. "I was charged with preparing this army. I will fulfill my duty."

She moved to stand, but Donnic stood first, placing a forceful hand on her shoulder to keep her in her chair. "The rest of us are more than capable of filling in for you the rest of the day. That is all I ask, Captain, that you rest for one day. You will drive yourself to debilitation if you stay this course. We need you more on the battlefield than in that courtyard. If you insist on fulfilling your duties, then take a patrol route."

"Are you giving your captain orders, Guardsman?" Aveline asked, trying to sound intimidating.

It did not work. "No," Donnic said, smiling. "Merely a suggestion."

Aveline considered the "suggestion" for a moment. "Fine, Guardsman. You and Connington are in charge for the rest of the day. Drive those recruits hard, I expect to see the same progress tomorrow that would have been made with me."

With her day suddenly free, and the prospect of patrolling both dull and pointless, very few would be walking the streets after all, she decided to visit the Hanged Man. The tavern was the one place in Kirkwall that saw no reduction in business, as full as ever when the Captain of the Guard entered. As usual, no more than a few glances found her, most of the tavern's regulars used to her presence by now. That had not been the case in the first few months following her promotion. Over time, the shady patrons began to understand that if Aveline was not accompanied by at least four of her guardsmen, she was not there for business.

Varric was sitting at his typical table in the corner, enraptured in some story. Among those listening and enjoying a cup of ale were some Aveline knew to be criminals, but she ignored them, the same as they ignored her. "Three noble daughters, their ample bosoms pressing against their bodices, all of them willing before the Champion. Now, I have no first hand knowledge of how they rewarded Hawke, but…" Varric cut off his story as Aveline approached. "I do not believe our guest wants to hear this part."

"Ah, to bloody hell with her," one of the men listening, a pathetic squirrel of a man in rags, said. "Ya cannot stop now."

"Sorry, but when the Captain of the City Guard strolls up to your table, everything else must wait." A few grumbles let Aveline know how she was thought of, but the patrons left all the same. She did not care what these sort of people thought of her anyway, and their mutters of "she-beast" and "ginger dyke" were just more cruelty from those who she put no stock in the opinion of. Varric stood from the table and walked towards his room, stopping Norah to ask for another flagon to be delivered to his room. "Nice to see you remember me," Varric joked. "I wasn't so sure anymore. Can't remember the last time someone besides Daisy came to visit."

"You could have seen far more often if you took the position Hawke offered you," Aveline said pointedly.

Varric shrugged. "Not my style. What I can do with Bianca is not something to be taught to others, and can only be done because Bianca agrees."

"You are full of shit."

Aveline found that she missed the laugh that burst from Varric's lips. "Maybe I am, but I still insist that training soldiers in archery is not something that appeals to me, and would have squandered my talents."

"I will admit that you have a point there." Aveline had taken advantage of Varric's "talents" more than a few times since they had known each other. The dwarf had an uncanny ability to know everything happening in the city.

Norah entered the room, delivering the flagon Varric ordered. "Thanks doll," he said, receiving a gruff nod in return. "She will never warm up to me, will she? So anyway, how can I help you today? I figured you would be hard at work, making your recruits wish they never picked up a sword."

"If my guardsman are doing their jobs, they will be wishing that anyway," Aveline said with a grin.

"I assume you are here for information, then," Varric said. "What do you want to know?"

"Actually, I just wanted to stop and visit," Aveline answered, surprising even herself. "Since I have the day off, I might as well see how my friends are doing."

"Aw, now that is downright touching, Ser." Aveline grimaced at the nickname, given to her only weeks ago. After years of unsuccessfully trying to think of one for her, he finally settled for Ser, despite once proclaiming that anything having to do with the Orlesian knight that was her namesake was too easy and below him. "You would be better off seeing Hawke. From what Daisy tells me, he could use the distraction. You want a cup?" Varric asked, pouring the ale from the flagon into one of five cups on the table. Aveline refused. "Constant meetings and training, barely sleeping, he is going to kill himself to win this fight. Maybe he would listen to you when you tell him this is not worth sacrificing himself over."

Aveline shrugged. "He has heard enough talk about leaving from you and Bethany. I doubt he would take such talk from the person leading his armies well."

"He doesn't need bootlickers. He needs the truth."

The truth did not matter to Garrett Hawke if he disagreed with it, she almost said, but Varric did not need to be told that. "I was planning on seeing him after you, anyway. I will think about it." Narrowing her eyes slightly, she asked, "You are not planning on running out on us, are you?"

The smirk Varric gave in return could not have been more reassuring. "Even if I did feel a sudden inclination to abandon a friend I have stood by for seven years now, how would I go about it?"

"You know every possible escape route in the city," Aveline pointed out.

"So does Hawke. No, that ship has sailed, literally and figuratively. I guess I will have to stick around and fight. Besides, when Hawke wins this battle, killing thousands single-handedly, it will be one hell of a story."

Aveline chuckled, and grabbed one of the cups. "That it would. I think I will take some of that ale, Varric." The dwarf smiled, and poured.

While she stopped short of being well and truly drunk, Aveline could not deny that she was feeling the effects of the ale. Her head was already beginning to hurt, and every few steps she would have to take care not to stumble. In her present state, she decided to put the visit to Hawke on hold. Besides, if he was as busy as Varric claimed, he would not have the time to see her anyway. A fire was lit in her private quarters back at the Viscount's Keep, a modest abode that fit her modest personality. Aveline had very few personal possessions. A few outfits for functions, three sets of armor, two for actual use and one for parades. Four sets of casual clothing that she rarely wore. The necessary smallclothes, of course. There were two paintings, one of Fort Drakon in Denerim, the other of a nondescript forest that fit the description of half of Ferelden. An oak box lined with velvet sat on a desk, where she and Donnic both kept their wedding rings at night. Otherwise, everything in the room served a necessary function. Neither her or Donnic were ones for excess. They were simple people who found great satisfaction in their jobs, and rarely spent time at home except at night.

On cue, her husband entered their quarters, a plate in each hand. "I brought dinner, love." Donnic had already changed out of his armor, and was dressed in one of the two sets of casual clothing he owned, a brown tunic and white breeches, both made of roughspun wool. Still steaming with heat on the plates carried were slices of pork, juice running out of them onto the plate and embedded with garlic, with a side of corn on the cob. There was no bread, unfortunately. Aveline thought about asking if it was still possible to procure a loaf, but decided that would be greedy. They should eat only what was necessary, in case the Templar siege lasted long enough to drain their stores of food. "Did you have fun at the Hanged Man?" Donnic asked.

"How did you know?"

"Your inebriated state is quite evident in your eyes," he teased. "Where else would you go to have a drink, but the Hanged Man?"

"Good point," she admitted, sitting down to eat.

Aveline barely remembered climbing into bed, but whatever sleep she managed to get was nowhere near enough. The knock on the door was hesitant, yet loud enough to wake her. "Captain?" the voice called out. "Captain, there's a message for you." Aveline groaned loudly as she swung her legs out of bed. She was dressed modestly, as always, in a long pair of breeches and a shirt. Her footsteps were heavy, the wood beneath the carpet creaking loudly as she walked to the door. She opened it to find Guardsman Brennan standing outside. "Apologies Captain, but the Champion sent someone with an urgent message for you. The messenger is waiting in your office."

Aveline nodded sleepily. "Dismissed." Brennan nodded back and left, closing the door. She quickly threw on a better pair of breeches, a tunic, boiled leather over that, and over it all her armor. Donnic woke briefly and asked where she was going, but she told him to go ahead and go back to sleep.

Inside her office, seated at the chair across the desk from her own chair, sat someone Aveline did not recognize, a young, well dressed man with the coarse stubble of a young man's beard covering his cheeks. She knew all of Hawke's messengers. With her guard up, and her face an emotionless mask, she greeted the messenger, who was clearly trying not to show his intimidation. "I apologize for waking you, Captain, but Messere Hawke was insistent that I come immediately," he said, voice weak, unsure.

Then he should have come himself, Aveline nearly said. "What requires my attention at this hour?" she asked instead. The late hour did not go unnoticed to her in the walk to her office.

"He, um, my lord asks that you join him at his estate, as soon as possible."

Maker, at this hour? Aveline managed to again hold her tongue. "For what reason?"

"My lord did not say, and I knew not to ask."

"A word of advice. Always ask. That way you avoid a tongue lashing from someone with less restraint than I have. Tell Messere Hawke that I will join him within the hour." The young messenger nodded, and left in a hurry, clearly happy to be done with his task.

Whatever this was, it could not be good news. Thoughts of the city being under attack, of a Templar scout force sneaking into the city, of a massive number of deserters, and a few other bad case scenarios entered her mind. She took a few minutes to fully wake up, stretched to the best that her armor allowed, and slid her sword into its sheath. Lastly, she took hold of her shield, the Shield of the Knight Herself. Aveline still remembered her negative response when Hawke gave her this thing. As with any mention of the famous Orlesian knight, she assumed the gift to be in jest, some subtle insult. Her anger had been misplaced, however, and she had not used any other shield since. It was of strange shape, but never had the Guard-Captain used a shield stronger or more durable. Sliding the shield on to her back, she left her office for the short trek through Hightown to Hawke's mansion.


	4. Chapter 4

Varric learned rather quickly that empty streets simply did not suit him. He preferred crowds he could blend in to, so that he knew there was no one paying attention to him. Not because he was a dwarf, there was no one more comfortable with themselves than Varric was, but because there were so few sources of information richer than crowds of people on a street. All of them sharing stories and rumors, trying to whisper, their voices becoming louder and louder as they talked over a group ten feet away from them, until their "secrets" were practically shouted for any and all to hear. It had taken no more than a day for the streets to empty after the city was closed, and no one missed the absence of those crowds like Varric did. The Hanged Man was as crowded and full of rumors and secrets as ever, but the rants of the tavern's drunken regulars were predictable, and that was all he heard anymore.

Of course, being a dwarf did not help, mainly because there was no chance to walk by whoever was on the street without being noticed. Varric's reputation was well known to those who needed to know. He was a companion of Hawke's, the one who knew all of your secrets, who had been responsible for the downfall of many a conspiracy in his lifetime. If you conspired against Hawke, if you plotted to make a move against anyone the Champion cared about, Varric would know. While he liked that reputation before now, mainly because it was the only way someone like him would ever be intimidating, it was not the same when no one was making their secrets public. Now everyone shut their mouths, walked away, looked at him with contempt. "Be careful, Hawke," Varric had told his friend every time he'd seen him over the last two weeks. "It will not take long for this city to turn on you. It might happen the moment Lowtown falls, and you will find yourself fighting not just Templars, but the very people you are defending." Hawke, of course, was full of confidence and was so sure that would not happen. Varric expected nothing less. That was Hawke's role, he had to be that confident if they were to have any chance, just as Aveline's role was to train soldiers, Bethany's was to help her mages, and Varric's was to keep tabs on the people and tell the cold, hard truth.

While his job was harder than it used to be, Varric still had his network out there, and they were still finding out everything that needed to be known. It may not be as fun to rely on others to gather information, but fun was not very important right now. It was his network that told him the information he was walking to Hightown to tell Hawke. Such a move had been expected, and Hawke was prepared. All that needed to be done now was for Hawke to be told what was happening. Orana opened the door, shy as ever, even after so many years. "Hello there, Blondie," Varric said with a smile. Slipping into the nickname that once belonged to Anders was easy. That piece of shit was dead, and besides, it fit the attractive elf much better.

"Hello, Messere," Orana greeted, her own thin smile on her lips. "Messere Hawke is waiting near his desk. Mistress Vallen has not yet arrived."

Of course not. Poor Aveline was probably still trying to wake up. "Well, I guess we will have to entertain ourselves until she arrives then," he said, walking into the mansion. Orana led the way to Hawke's desk, where he was sitting and reading one of a stack of letters. "When are you going to loosen up, Blondie? I know I would have fun, working for Hawke."

Orana bowed her head slightly. "I have fun. I visit with Merrill often, and Mistress Hawke is always willing to bring me shopping with her."

Just the mention of Vivienne made Varric's blood race a little quicker. Hawke definitely picked a good one there. "Yet you still act so shy."

"It's just how I am, I suppose."

Varric chuckled, and patted Orana's shoulder. "We will change that one day."

Hawke stood as they approached, a forced smile on his face. The man looked like shit, Varric was sad to see. Daisy had failed to mention any of this when he saw her yesterday. Unless Hawke's bloodshot eyes, the dark circles under them, the paleness of his skin and the weariness of his every motion had all happened in the last two days, which did not seem likely. "Maker, Hawke. You look awful."

"Oh piss off," he said. "Let's see you bear so much responsibility and still look attractive."

"That is quite alright, I will stick to my current responsibilities, thank you." Varric watched as his friend took his seat again, slumping heavily into the chair. "I imagine you are hearing it from Vivienne about how bad you look."

"All of the time. She gripped me like a cobra when your messenger came tonight, refusing to let me out of bed, telling me to get some sleep. Damn you for making get out of that bed, Varric," Hawke said with a grin.

The two of them waited for Aveline to arrive, passing the time mostly in silence. Varric was not being a smartass, he genuinely worried about the condition Hawke appeared to be in. Not just physically, either. Hawke was constantly making decisions, and when the time came to fight he would need a clear head capable of making intelligent decisions at a moment's notice. At this pace, he was heading towards a quick death when the Templars began their attack. Varric decided he would talk to Aveline after their meeting, and see if the together they could convince Hawke to take it easy, share some of his burdens. Anton Freamin could stand to do something, for once. After all, he was supposed to be helping, it was the promise he made in exchange for Hawke marrying his daughter.

Orana led Aveline into the mansion about half an hour after Varric arrived, and the Guard-Captain looked every bit as exhausted as Hawke, though physically more impressive due to the armor she wore. Varric began to feel slightly guilty for getting a good night's rest. It seemed none of his friends were capable of the same. "Varric. Now I am certain this is not good news," Aveline said gravely, blunt of speech as always.

"Now, Ser, it is nothing that terrible," he said. "The Templars are sending in their first infiltration team. Trying to use the sewers to enter through Darktown, as we expected."

Hawke sighed. "When?"

"A couple of hours before dawn. I would suggest sending men down there now though, in case they try earlier."

"I agree," Aveline said. "Why was it necessary to wake me for this?"

"It is your guardsman we will be sending. You should be the one deciding who to send."

Aveline nodded. "Of course. Thank you. I am afraid sleep has not yet yielded its grip on me."

Hawke stood. "We should not risk having anyone other than a force led by myself to meet these Templars."

"Hawke, no!" Aveline protested immediately. "Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately? We absolutely cannot allow you to fight anyone."

"You cannot give the Viscount orders, Guard-Captain."

Aveline's mouth hung open in shock, even as her eyes narrowed and fists clenched with fury. Varric had never heard Hawke pull rank on any of them before, but while she was just as shocked, he had the sense to step in before this turned ugly. "Aveline is right, Hawke," he said. "You are too important to risk yourself on such simple matters. One of the perks of power is having people like us to handle affairs for you."

"No," Hawke insisted. "If something goes wrong, I need to be there. I am going."

Varric knew better than to continue to argue. He hoped Vivienne could forgive him when she heard the reason she would wake up in an empty bed yet again. "Then I am going as well," Aveline said.

Hawke did not protest. Varric was sure that his friend felt guilty for his earlier comment. "How about you, Varric? Is this going to be like the good old days?"

"I'm pretty sure I did not forget how to do this. Count me in." Varric pulled Biance off his back and grinned.

The stink of the sewers beneath Darktown was something Varric wished never smell again. A light flow of disgusting water trickled beneath his feet, and the rats were active, darting in and out of sight constantly. Maybe it was because eight months had passed since he had been down here, but the smell seemed even worse, as if the shit and garbage was embedded in the stone around them. Varric took the rear of the formation, behind Aveline. Leading the way were two guardsmen named Kitt and LeShoure, with Hawke behind them. Hawke was an imposing figure in his full armor, all sharp edges and heavy steel that he somehow wore the weight of comfortably. In a sheath across his back, the two-handed greatsword crafted specifically for him after Meredith's death, stretched from the top of his thigh to seven inches past his shoulder. How he wielded such a sword, Varric could never understand.

When they reached the exit from the sewers, which opened onto a valley, Varric saw that the grate covering the exit had not been disturbed. He had to admit that he was worried his intelligence had been wrong. The time there passed in silence. The guardsmen patrolled, Aveline sharpened her blade, Hawke drummed an unknown song on his knees with his fingers. Varric tried to start a conversation with Aveline and each of the guardsmen, but was met with silence. Resigning himself to a boring wait, he sat against the wall near Hawke, and made sure Bianca was in working order.

This entire mess with the Templars was so far out of his league that Varric had to admit surprise at how well he was keeping up to this point. The stakes had never been this high while playing these games within the Dwarven Merchant's Guild. While it was not unheard of for rivals to murder each other, typically something far worse than very bad had to happen to reach that point. Varric had been oh so good at his job. Sweet talking other merchants, finding out what goods they were importing, making threats and bribes where they were needed, he had thrived. He thought things might have changed with Bertrand's decline into insanity, when Varric himself would be in charge, but he found that he liked the position even more. Now he received the respect he deserved, and made House Tethras the most powerful of all the houses within the Guild. What a thrill it was, to see the looks of respect from his peers, looks his brother had never received, not once.

To say his current responsibilities were something entirely more substantial would be a ludicrous understatement. It was not just his wealth and the wealth of his House that was on the line now. It was his life, the lives of his friends, the lives of an entire city. If he missed just one rumor, if one of his agents missed just one move the Templars made, those were the consequences. Varric had thought that having the stakes raised yet again may lead him to enjoy the game even more, like when Bertrand lost his position at the head of House Tethras, but that hope left him within days. He doubted he could keep this up much longer, but what choice did he have? The only other option was getting out, running away, and he could not do that. He could not leave Hawke. After everything they had been through, that was out of the question. Varric knew he did not give the impression of being the most loyal person, but when it came to a friend like Hawke, he was willing to trust his judgment. Hawke would not sacrifice his friends. If the time came when they needed to run, Varric would lead the way, but until then he and Bianca were going nowhere.

The sound of approaching voices snapped all of them to attention, Hawke bringing a finger to his lips to signal for silence. They hurried into cover behind pillars to either side of the grate. The Templars hushed as they neared the exit, the harsh scrape of metal on stone replacing their voices. Varric snuck a peek as they entered, gripping Bianca tightly. His face grew pale as Templar after Templar entered the sewers. By the time the last one entered, their were twenty heavily armored Templars walking past them. The first ten all carried longswords and shields. Seven others wielded either a short bow or crossbow. Three others, the most dangerous of all, Varric knew, had identical daggers in sheaths at their waist, their armor slightly less bulky than their comrades.

Varric held his breath as the last of the Templars walked past. Only when they were moments from leaving sight did Hawke nod at Aveline, who in turn nodded at LeShoure. The guardsman removed his own set of daggers from their sheaths and snuck after the Templars, catching up to the last in line, who lagged behind the others, and driving his dagger into the back of the man's neck. The blade cut through the Templar's armor like butter, yet somehow his companions did not hear, and LeShoure dragged the dead man back to where Hawke sat. "One less, anyway," Varric joked, losing his grin when no one else offered so much as a light of amusement in their eyes. "What's the plan, then?"

"Twenty, Varric?" Aveline asked accusingly. "You could not bother to mention there would be twenty of them?"

"I was not told there would be that many," Varric argued defensively. "I was told ten."

"The numbers do not matter," Hawke said. "They are oblivious to our presence, we have the advantage. We fight them here and now. LeShoure, you lead the way. Aveline, stick close to him. When we attack, Aveline, Kitt and I will charge and keep them occupied. Varric, you keep your distance and do what you do best. LeShoure, look for opportunities to jump in for quick kills, lead anyone that focuses on you over to Aveline or I, where we can help." Donning the expression of intense focus and concentration that Varric knew all too well, Hawke said, "I've faced and killed a lot more Templars than this, and with less numbers. If we fight together and to the best of our abilities, this will be a cakewalk. LeShoure, lead the way."

Varric could not explain the sudden nervousness he felt, the tightness in his fingers as he gripped Bianca. This was far from his first fight, hell it was not even close to his first fight against Templars. Maker, he felt like a green boy staring across the battlefield while his unit commander shouted orders that he did not hear because of the dull pounding of his brain and the ringing in his ears. Varric watched as LeShoure again snuck up on the Templar group, this time dropping a miasmic flask into the center of the crowd and stabbing a dagger each into two of them.

Hawke, Aveline, and Kitt did not hesitate, charging forward, a bloodthirsty scream on each of their lips, and begun cutting down as many as they could while the Templars were still stunned. It was a beautiful, horrific chaos, the crunch of steel on biting through the weak points of armor, spray of blood, the screams of the dying. Varric's senses were attuned to it all, as if this was his first fight all over again. Hawke made quick work of everyone in his path, his massive greatsword swinging with such impossible speed and ferocity. Aveline used her shield as effectively as a sword, bashing Templars to expose openings for her longsword. Kitt did his best imitation of his Captain, though he relied more on his sword skills. LeShoure was a blur, moving in and out of the fight, his daggers always finding their mark at the joints and weak spots of the Templar armor. Eight of the Templars fell, either dead or dying, before the effects of the flask wore off and they began to gather their bearings. By that point, Varric's daze wore off and he added Bianca's arrows to the fight.

It happened near the end, as it always does. There were five Templars left, desperation in their every move as they saw their friends cut down. They had their backs to the cold, stinking stone, shields and swords raised defensively. Hawke went at them like a mad man, as he always did. Varric could see that his friend was swinging his sword slower than normal, the Templars blocking his blows. He raised Bianca to give aid, but between Hawke and the others, he could not get a shot. LeShoure was an absolute madman, a blur of armor and daggers. Three of the five Templars fell to him alone. Aveline and Hawke were meeting swords with the final two, when Aveline landed a cut to her foe's arm and leg, leaving him crippled on the ground, blood seeping through his armor. She drove the point of her sword through a weak point of his neck. Hawke saw this, and increased his attack, the ferocity of his sword swings returning to their normal vigor. LeShoure circled to make the killing blow as Aveline and Kitt rushed to add their swords. Hawke raised his sword high, prepared to drive his sword down with all his might and end the battle, when his foot slipped on a wet section of the ground, and he fell to a knee. Varric and the others were not quick enough to kill the last Templar before he took the opportunity to bring his sword down on Hawke, the blade crunching into the armor at the shoulder, Hawke cried out in pain as the Templar wrenched his sword free, moments before Aveline and Kitt drove their swords into his ribs.

Varric was in a trance as he approached, the shock of the event keeping it from fully registering. Hawke sat against the wall of the sewer, facing turning pale as the blood left it, leaking through the rend in his armor at the shoulder. Aveline crouched near him and made to remove the straps securing the breastplate. A wince and a painful groan escaped Hawke's lips as the armor was removed. "Damn it, Hawke," Aveline said when she saw the wound. Nothing life threatening, but without healing magic as soon as possible, he could face permanent damage. He would already have a nasty scar to remember the blow by. "Should we take him to the Gallows, or send a message asking for a healer?"

"Send a message," Varric said immediately. "That would be quicker, and Hawke would not have to go anywhere after the injury was healed."

Aveline nodded. "LeShoure, hurry to the Gallows and tell Bethany Hawke what happened. Insist on telling Bethany. If she wants to come to Hawke's estate herself, fine, but insist on the best healer she can send." LeShoure nodded and made to run off, but Varric called after him first. "Make it clear this is no life threatening injury. It would be cruel to have his sister thinking his life is in danger when it is not." Aveline and Kitt helped Hawke to his feet, and gave him their support as they left the sewers. Maker, Varric thought. Both Vivienne and Bethany are absolutely going to kill me.


	5. Chapter 5

Vivienne Hawke heard the rustle of sheets and blankets when her husband left their bed, heard him throw on his clothes and leave, heard the voices downstairs, though she could not make out what they were saying. While she wanted to know, by this point such late night meetings were commonplace. They did not bother her. She knew who Garret was going into their marriage, and he had been very forthcoming at all times about the hectic, erratic schedule he and his companions kept. It was infuriating at first, even knowing ahead of time, but after a year living in this home, sharing a bed and waking up alone too many mornings, she grew to accept the circumstances. Vivienne loved Garret for the man he was, loved that he was so good, so loyal to his friends, so loyal to her, that she could never be angry at him for doing what he felt was right, what had to be done to help the people of Kirkwall. Still, she wished there were more mornings where she could wake up in her husband's arms, rather than alone and worried about what he was involved in now.

Vivienne had spent hours drifting in and out of sleep when the panicked gasps and frightened whispers downstairs. There was no doubt in her mind that something terrible had happened, and she immediately swung out of bed, covering the modest nightgown she wore with a large robe. She opened the door silently, knowing that the whispers downstairs would stop if they knew she was listening. "I will not drop it, Hawke!" a female voice whispered harshly, Vivienne quickly recognizing it as belonging to Aveline. "I knew something like this would happen. I should have insisted you stay here." Vivienne's heart leapt into her throat.

"Can you two quiet down," another voice said, this one belonging to Varric. "We are going to hear enough about this from Bethany, we really don't want Vivienne down here as well."

He said this, of course, just as Vivienne began her descent down the stairs. "Too late," she said calmly, though it was hard not to smirk at the way Varric jumped. It was much easier not to smirk when she saw her husband. His skin was pale, his eyes clouded from fatigue and pain. A wound on his shoulder was crudely bandaged with strips of cloth, blood soaked through. A single trickle of blood flowed slowly down his chest from underneath the cloth. Forcing herself to stay calm, she approached Garret, knowing her concern lay bare in her eyes, no matter how she tried to hide it. "You have already sent for Bethany?" she asked.

"As soon as the fight was over," Aveline answered. "She should arrive at any moment."

"He will be okay?"

"Yes, as long as he lets the wound mend, and does not insist on being a moron."

Varric cleared his throat. "Vivienne, I'm sorry for letting Hawke involve himself…"

"Enough, no apology is necessary," she interrupted. "I could never blame anyone else for Hawke's bravery and foolishness." Vivienne knelt before the chair Hawke sat in. "Hurts, does it not?"

"Yes," Garret groaned, wincing in pain.

"I would hope this wound would discourage future foolishness, but if a blighted dragon could not dissuade you then nothing will."

Bethany arrived minutes after Vivienne woke, and she was not as understanding as Vivienne had been. She unleashed her tirade as she applied her magic, her magic growing intense enough to make Garrett cry out a couple of times. Seeing the wound itself was a little much for Vivienne. It came from a sword, she could see that much, digging deep into the flesh and muscle of his shoulder. The cut had not been clean, leaving strips of skin hanging loose. Blood stopped pulsing from the wound, but dried remnants smeared his shoulder, chest, and neck. It was remarkable to watch Bethany work, especially knowing she was far from the best healer in the city. She admitted numerous times to being adequate, and little else. By the time she was done the only reminder of the blow was a rough scar. "Maker's breath, brother, you cannot risk yourself this way with the Templars beneath our walls. If you were to die, we would all soon follow you into the grave." Bethany's anger had faded, her usual worry replacing it.

"Why are you all acting as if you've never seen me injured before?" Garret asked bitterly. His pain was mostly gone, it seemed, and he felt cocky again.

Aveline shook her head, and she and Varric pardoned themselves. Vivienne walked them to the front door. "I must thank you for helping my husband tonight. I mean it when I say that I do not blame you in the least. When Garrett decides to do something, there is little that can stop him."

"That man is utterly foolish," Aveline said, weariness written on every inch of her face.

Vivienne nodded, grinning fondly, and Aveline and Varric both took their leave. When she returned to where Bethany was talking with her brother, the mage looked up, shaking her head. As with everyone else, the late hour and lack of sleep showed in the drawn out features of her face, and the pronounced red veins in her eyes. "He will need to refrain from combat for at least three days," she said.

"I will keep him subdued while his wound properly heals," Vivienne promised. It would not be the first time she kept him in bed, refusing to let him do everything he felt required to do. "Thank you so much for coming at this hour."

"Anything for my brother," she said. Garrett snorted. "Please, Vivienne, keep him safe. I don't care how you manage it, as long as I am not required to hear the details." She blushed a little as she said this, the meaning evident. After hugging Vivienne, as she always did, Bethany left the mansion, leaving Vivienne and her husband alone.

Despite Garrett's initial insistence that he did not need help, eventually he settled against her, letting her lead him up the stairs and into their bedroom. It was not until he lay in bed, propped against a group of pillows laying against headboard, that the proud mask fell from his face. "I cannot believe I suffered a wound of this manner against foes such as these. Nobodies, a group of scouts, and I may have died if not for Aveline and her guardsmen. What is wrong with me?"

"You are exhausted, my love," Vivienne said calmly. "Even the strongest of men need sleep." She decided not to ask for details. Normally Vivienne insisted on hearing everything, but not tonight. Only if he wants to talk, she thought. She removed the robe she wore and crawled into bed, resting her head on her husband's uninjured shoulder. "I wish you would not take such risks when they are completely unnecessary."

"How are they not necessary?" Garret asked angrily. "A Templar force was sneaking in through the sewers. If I did not stop them, they might have been letting that army outside our walls into the city as we speak!"

"And you could easily have let Aveline lead her guardsmen to stop these Templars."

Garret turned his face away from her, but she could see the hard line his mouth had formed, the way his eyes narrowed. "It is not right for my friends to take any risk that I am not taking myself. I have always led by example, and that will not change now. I cannot stand hearing this from them, and I cannot stand hearing it from you. What is so different now than when I led them against Meredith? What is different than when I led them against the Qunari?"

"The difference is that you are needed for a battle of larger significance than stopping a petty group of Templars from sneaking in through the sewers," Vivienne said, a pleading in her voice for her husband to understand. "The Qunari were the threat, and you were needed. Meredith was the threat, and you were needed. All the minor battles in between, you did not know what was to come afterwards. You know you will be needed when the Templars launch their assault. What if something were too happen, and you were to fall in battle?" The thought alone made her heart clench, knowing the possibility was very, very real.

"Then Kirkwall would carry on without me, and I would know I died for a good cause."

"No," Vivienne said, sitting up on the bed. "If you die, the nobles would open the gates for the Templars, the mages would be murdered, the women raped beforehand, including your sister." Garrett shot a furious glare in her direction, but she met it with no fear, needing him to understand what she was saying and believe it. "Some of the nobles would resistance, and be put to the sword, myself included. Most of Lowtown, and everyone in the alienage, would be murdered. Your death would be meaningless, everything you have done erased from memory. The name Hawke would forever be remembered with scorn."

Her husband refused to meet her eyes, and she could see his fury in the twitching of his muscles. "Your father would rally the city. He knows how important our cause is."

Lowering her gaze to the bed, Vivienne said, "My father would be first in line to sell out everything you fight for." It was a hard truth she accepted years ago about Anton Freamin. He was a man who craved power and influence, and had few morals or true beliefs he was willing to fight for. Not until Garrett Hawke came into her life did Vivienne realize this, and grow to resent her father for it. Her father gave her a great life, and she would always love him, but he was no man to fight for a cause unless he felt assured of the outcome. He could always insist that he was coerced into supporting Garrett. Vivienne knew her father would probably even let her die just to appear innocent of any wrongdoing. "Without you, everything shatters. "

Garrett wordlessly moved his lips, trying to find the words to speak that would convince himself, let alone her. Eventually he gave up. "I remember the first time I set foot in Kirkwall, myself, Mother, Bethany, and Aveline, four of hundreds of Fereldans the Viscount wanted to throw back out into the sea and be rid of. Even when we finally were allowed inside, it was only at the cost of servitude, fighting in a mercenary company that looked upon Bethany and me with the same disdain everyone else did. As horrible as those days were, living in a cramped house in Lowtown with my pathetic, worthless uncle Gamlen, I was unimportant."

He took a breath, smiling uneasily. "I never set out to be important. All I wanted was to provide a living for my mother and sister. To think that all of this came from a Deep Roads expedition I had to work my ass of just to be a part of, it is near incomprehensible to think back on." Garrett finally met her eyes again, their usual strength showing again.

"Are you joking? I was here to see most all of it, Garrett. Men who talk to those in power with the disregard you often did do not do so unless they feel they are equals. Men who involve themselves in the matters of a city the way you did do so because they think they can do better than whoever is currently in charge."

"I treat everyone that way, and anything I ever did was because I thought it was the right thing to do."

"Which is why power and influence came so naturally to you," Vivienne said. It was remarkable that this man, clearly one made for power and influence, who so naturally stepped into such roles, truly believed he did not aim for it. And Garrett really did believe he was doing nothing more than what was right. She had not believed these words the first time she heard them, but after years of speaking with him and now living as his wife, getting to know and understand the Champion of Kirkwall in an intimate way no one else was capable of, she knew he was not playing false.

"Ugh, fine, you're right," he submitted, grinning like the smartass he often was. "Okay, I promise. No throwing myself onto any swords, figuratively or literally."

Vivienne crossed her arms. "Next time, I will have Aveline use a dagger to carve a reminder into your arm."

"You would pass on the opportunity to punish me yourself?"

"No. My punishment would be of a crueler nature. Something involving the bedroom, I think."

Garrett managed to sleep peacefully through the rest of the night, and when Vivienne woke in bed with her arm still draped over his midsection, a contented smile came to her lips. Expectedly, there were a few visitors fishing for details as to why her husband was not in his office at the Viscount's Keep that day, and she politely informed them that the Champion was feeling under the weather, he would be just fine and return to his duties tomorrow, and if anything required his immediate attention he would handle it. It would not serve to say that he suffered a serious wound, she decided. If they heard it from someone else, that would be fine, but not from her.

Garrett put up a weak resistance in the mid-morning hours, getting out of bed and beginning to dress himself, but a few stern words and gentle pushes later he was back in bed and fast asleep. He stayed asleep well into the afternoon, until Bethany came to check on him, along with two other experienced healers she wanted to have apply their magic to the wound. Once they were done, Garrett might as well have had nothing happen the previous night, and was back at his desk reading the latest news to reach him that day. Bethany and Vivienne stood near the fireplace, waiting for the two healers to gather all of their belongings. "I am glad Brother's okay, but a part of me wishes the wound had been more serious. He will forget this by tomorrow."

Vivienne nodded, knowing it was true. "It is a blessing and a curse."

Frantic knocking at the front door snapped everyone to attention. Bodahn hurried to the front door and opened it, Seneschal Bran rushing inside and towards Garrett. He did not even stop to say hello or excuse himself for the rush. "Messere, I need speak with you immediately."

"Then speak," Garrett said.

Bran looked around, his gaze lingering on Bethany and Vivienne, his reluctance to speak in their presence evident. "A Templar emissary is waiting to speak with you. He came with an escort of four, we took their weapons and have them under guard in your small council chamber."


	6. Chapter 6

Everyone Hawke walked by, from the moment he stepped into the Keep, was standing in a group of at least four, whispering excitedly. Guardsmen, servants, nobles, messengers, if not for their clothing, or armor in the guard's case, it would have been nigh impossible to tell them apart. Since they were all whispering at the same time, the point of whispering, to not have what you are saying heard by anyone you did not want to hear, was lost as voices were raised to be heard over others. Hawke paid little attention, all of the chatter he heard being quite predictable. "Are they surrendering? Do they want to end the fight? Will the Champion make peace? Can they be trusted? Is this a distraction?" Every sentence was a question, one that no one could answer until Hawke entered his council chambers and heard from this Templar emissary himself.

Guardsman Donnic was standing at the top of the stairs in the entrance, along with two of his brothers-in-arms. One of the two guards standing watch outside his estate had escorted him to the Keep, but stopped at the bottom of the stairs, leaving him in the care of Donnic. "Good to see you," Hawke greeted, the two men clasping hands.

"Same, Champion," Donnic said.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Champion? You don't have to use my first name if you feel uncomfortable, but at least call me Hawke like your wife does."

"Not here, Champion."

Hawke shook his head, but now was not the time for this conversation, one these two men had had many times over the years they knew each other. Donnic simply refused to open up to him. He was frustratingly like Aveline in that regard. At least he used the title Champion this time, and not My Lord Viscount, as he usually did. "Right then, lead the way."

Whatever Hawke had been expecting of the Templar emissary, the person he saw in the council chambers was not it. The four men in Templar armor, their faces obscured by the heavy helmets they wore, were expected, but certainly not the small, thin, cheery faced man wearing the well worn Chantry robes. He stood when Hawke entered, offering his hand. Hawke shook it. "Viscount Hawke, a pleasure to meet you. I cannot express my gratitude enough for your willingness to meet today." The two men sat. "I understand you suffered a wound recently. I trust you are well?"

"Well enough to wield a blade with my usual skill," Hawke answered, eyes focused intensely on the Brother. Even though there was no reason to, Hawke wondered why they had sent a Brother to treat with him, instead of a Sister. He would have felt far less comfortable relaying threats to some poor woman than any man. Let alone some man whose confident smirk was already irritating Hawke.

"Of course," the brother said, eyes relaying that he knew this game. "That is why I am here. Your combat prowess is known far beyond the walls of Kirkwall, and the Chantry would like to avoid conflict resulting in senseless death."

Hawke entwined his hands on the table in front of him. "I am not the one camping soldiers outside city walls with murderous intent."

"Champion, you cannot feign innocence. The current state of affairs has as much to do with you as it did with Knight Commander Meredith."

Hawke's eyes burned with focus. "If the Templar Order had listened when told the extent of Meredith's madness, I would not have been forced to take such action."

Surprisingly, the Chantry brother nodded, lowering his gaze ashamedly. "I cannot deny that much. That is why I was sent here today. You are not the first to take the side of mages against a Knight Commander gone mad, and with a sister at risk you cannot be blamed too harshly."

"Please, do not attempt to gain my favor, or sympathize with me. I know that my head and the heads of every mage in the Gallows is the aim of the Templar army outside these walls, whether I surrender the city or not."

"You are wrong there, Champion," the Brother said. "We can promise you and any mages willing to cooperate will be spared, if you surrender now. Your companions will be allowed to leave, providing they never return. You will serve five years in a dungeon, and be banished afterwards. The mages who surrender will return to the Circle." The Brother's eyes took on a menacing glow. "Understand that this offer only applies here and now. If I walk out of this room and you have refused me, it will mean war."

Hawke swallowed the words that formed at the tip of his tongue, the insults that nearly spewed from his mouth. He owed to everyone he fought for to at least consider the offer. It meant survival for himself and those standing by him. Kirkwall would be spared. Bethany and the other mages would once again be imprisoned, but if Hawke did not lead them to victory they would be dead. Could he trust the Templars to keep their word? "I must refuse," Hawke said, voice made of steel. "We are not alone. Mages all around Thedas have seen what we have done, and been inspired. Word has reached my eyes of Circle Rebellions elsewhere in the Free Marches, and in Orlais. And this is after only two weeks. If I were to surrender the city to you, I would be signing the death warrants of everyone I fight to save. We would be made an example of, a brutal reminder of what happens when the Templars and their Chantry masters are crossed. If I am to be that reminder, I will be so with a sword in my hand." Hawke stood, trying to muster all the authority and regality he could manage. "I will now ask that you leave. I will see you on the battlefield."

The look of surprise and outrage on the Brother's face was worth it. Suddenly, the small, kind man that sat in the seat before Hawke was gone, replaced by an angry, bitter man. "Yes. We will see you on the battlefield," he spat.

* * *

Hawke's companions took the news far better than he expected. Bethany shook her head with a grin. Aveline nodded seriously. Varric told a joke that Merrill laughed at. The Champion could not help but grin. "I expected at least one of you to yell at me."

"Why?" Varric asked. "You think we want to have our heads chopped off?"

Bethany offered an understanding smile. "The Templars would never let us live. To even consider the possibility would be ludicrous."

"I would have pounded your face in myself if you had decided to surrender now," Aveline said.

"I guess its unanimous," Merrill said.

The relief Hawke felt left his body in the form of a long, loud exhale of breath. "We cannot risk being caught off guard. My refusal of their terms may tempt the Templars to invade this very night, and we must be prepared if they do. Bethany, we will move the mages from the Gallows to the Keep right away. You can go tell them immediately. I want anyone who is incapable of fighting kept in the designated safe locations, everyone else can bunk in the Guard's quarters while they wait for the battle to begin."

Bethany nodded. "We have been prepared to move for days now. We will be here in full strength in no more than two hours."

"Very good. Aveline, move your soldiers to Lowtown, and post them where they will be most useful. Keep two hundred behind here in Hightown to guard the nobles and the mages staying behind, I want everyone else on the front lines. How many weapons have we built?"

"Two trebuchets, already in Lowtown. Five catapults, two in Lowtown and the other three at the Gallows. We still have seventy of the Qunari gaatlok bombs, and another hundred dwarven explosives."

Hawke grimaced. "That helps, but I would feel better with a few more catapults and another hundred of those damned Qunari bombs." It was a real stroke of luck when they found the cache of unused explosives at the former Qunari compound. Even with the precautions taken before testing them, there had been seven injuries due to the unexpected power of the bombs. "Alright. We will move fifty of the Qunari bombs and seventy of the dwarven bombs to the Gallows. They will be most useful against the ships in the bay. The rest of them go to Lowtown to be used on the siege towers. Go ahead and begin getting everything in position." Aveline left hurriedly.

"What about me?" Merrill asked.

"You will stand with me on the frontlines. Right now, I need you to help Aveline gather the forces in Lowtown. Afterwards, report to my estate." Merrill left in a hurry, the optimistic spring in her step that she always had. Hawke had to admire such an attitude when they were facing such dire odds. He could not understand the hatred the former Circle mages still held towards the Dalish mage. How could anyone not like Merrill? She was not even using blood magic anymore, and had worked hard to improve her abilities so she would never need it again. Some prejudices and fears simply never left, Hawke assumed.

Varric was frowning before Hawke said a word. "I will once again express my opposition to the role you have in mind for me."

The Champion chuckled. "There's no better shot in this city than you. Maybe Guardsman Terrize, but I think he still has some catching up to do. I'm not asking you to pick up a damned axe and fight alongside me. Stay at your vantage point, and give Bianca a workout."

The dwarf sighed. "Fine, Hawke. Not like I've never been in a tough battle before. What do you want me to do before then?"

Hawke smirked. "Get laid, have a few drinks, whatever you feel like. My only request is that you stay sober enough to fight at a moment's notice, and be somewhere I can contact you quickly. Can you do that?"

Varric grinned back. "Your wish is my command, my lord."

The nobles were not so willing to comply as Hawke's friends were. The moment he finished relaying the events of the meeting with the Templar emissary, the shouts and bickering began, a drowning tide of voices whose owners were not listening to anything anyone else said. Hawke patiently waited for the roar to dissipate, and the eyes in the room to turn back his way. "Why is there surprise and outrage among you?" he asked. "I have told you all from the beginning that there would be no compromise, no surrender, that any such offer from the Templars should be considered false. We would have been offered no quarter if I agreed to their terms. The army outside our walls would have marched in, arrested us all, and one by one put our heads on pikes. The most we could hope for was exile instead of death."

"Maybe that only applies to you, Champion!" Jacque Arman shouted, his beady, deceptive eyes darting around the room, refusing to meet the unrelenting stare Hawke sent his way. "My fellow nobles, we can still prevent a battle, and save all of our skins. This army wants Hawke, no one else! I say we give him to them, before our support for this man is the death of us all!"

"I agree!" shouted Wesley Ullf, a Fereldan refugee who had been one of Hawke's greatest supporters for many years. After Hawke's refusal of his daughter two years earlier, and his marriage to Vivienne a year later, Ullf began to carry a grudge, one he held deeply. He was one of the nobles Hawke had his spies watching closest for signs of deception and betrayal. "Kirkwall is more important than one man! We risk our homes for Hawke? I ask you why!?"

"Shut your mouth, dog lord," Anton Freamin said dismissively. "I will not allow the slight you feel, or any slights any of you feel, drive us away from our present course. We all know the Champion is right, that the Templars will have no mercy."

The room again devolved into a raucous scene of shouts and insults, which Hawke again intended to let run its course. This time, however, the shouts did not stop, only grow louder, the insults grow more vulgar and personal. Hawke stood, removed his greatsword from its scabbard, and slammed the hilt down on the table. A great cracking sound reverberated through the room, silencing everyone immediately. "Enough!" he shouted. "I have dragged you this far, and I will drag you the rest of the way, whether you like it or not! You think there is any chance I would let you undo my work now?" The door to the council chamber opened, and five guardsmen entered the room. "The war has already begun. You had your chances to walk away, and you refused them. Guardsmen, escort the nobles to the throne room. See that they are provided every comfort, but until this battle is over, they are not to leave."

Shocked stares turned Hawke's way as the five guardsmen were joined by ten others, who began forcefully escorting the nobles from the room. "You will not get away with this!" one shouted. "This is outrageous!" shouted another. Some of the nobles, mainly Freamin and Hawke's other staunch supporters, went willingly.

Once they left, Hawke sighed loudly, place his sword on the table, and sat back down in his chair. His head began to pound, a merciless drumbeat against his skull. He did not even hear Aveline enter the room. "Here we are, for better or worse," she said. "You certainly gave them a scare."

"Lot of good that will do me. Are your guardsmen in place?"

Aveline nodded. "They have their orders. I promise, not even a mouse will sneak around Hightown until this battle is over." Hawke smiled wearily. "By the way, you have a visitor waiting for you at the Gallows."

What now, Hawke thought. "If it is a Templar, just throw them in the damn water and hope that armor drowns them."

Aveline smiled. "Not a Templar. It is someone you may want thrown in the water anyway."

* * *

Hawke recognized the womanly curves and provocative dress immediately. For a moment, he did consider throwing the damned pirate in the water. Instead, he found himself hugging Isabela tightly, the embarrassed flush on her cheeks afterwards worth the gesture. "You know, I did not expect you to come back," he said.

"I told you I would."

"And? Since when are you trustworthy?"

Isabela punched him in the arm, wincing and shaking her fist afterwards. "Why did I just punch your damned armor? Anyways, I am here, and fuck you, Hawke. Do you still like me enough that I can get a drink and some food to put in my stomach?"

"I guess," Hawke said.

Bodahn sleepily carried a tray with two cups of wine, the bottle, and a half wheel of sharp cheese into Hawke's office within his estate. Isabela never reached for the cup, taking the bottle and gulping the liquid down. Hawke was glad to see his friend had not changed. "Since you are back, I assume you can tell me some good news."

"Of course," Isabela said, grinning. "My crew is in place, I have a small boat waiting, it should be able to carry anyone you would possibly want to bring. Just say the word."

Hawke sliced a bite of cheese off the wheel, his relief evident on his face. "Any chance the Templars find your exit or your crew?"

Isabela laughed. "Please, Hawke."

"Good to see your confidence isn't lacking."

"It is a fact," Isabela insisted. "I promise, we can get you out if necessary." Isabela finished the bottle of wine, hiccupping loudly. "So who exactly is coming with you when we get out of here?"

"Merrill, Varric, and Bethany are certain. Aveline, she seems to be refusing to leave, but I will try one more time to convince her. You, obviously."

"What about Vivienne?"

Hawke looked away, staring at the tray in front of him. "I have not asked her. I cannot decide if it is fair to ask her to leave or not."

"You know she will be the first one 'questioned' if the Templars take the city," Isabela said. "Not politely either."

Hawke knew this, of course, and could not bear the thought of leaving his wife in the hands of the Templars, but asking her to leave seemed just as cruel a fate. "All I can promise her is a life on the run, one just as dangerous to her as if she stayed in Kirkwall. At least if she stays, her father could protect her, and she could live a normal life eventually. She will not have that with me."

Isabela, never one for a love talk, shrugged uncomfortably. "I guess, but you should still ask her. She's tougher than she looks. Whatever, none of my business." She stood and stretched, yawning loudly.

Hawke was beginning to feel tired as well. "Do you want to stay here tonight?" he asked Isabela.

"Nah. I can't resist the Hanged Man. Besides, Varric and I have plenty to catch up on."

* * *

**I don't know what most people think of Isabela, but I like her. Had to have her come back. The actual battle will start the chapter after next, and I'm not sure how many chapters that will occupy.**


	7. Chapter 7

**My keyboard seemed to really be on the fritz while writing this, so if there's a bunch of mistakes tell me, I'll correct them and republish this.**

* * *

Strangely, Bethany Hawke found herself missing the Gallows.

Not the Templars or their rules, of course. Not the people, after all they were now at the Viscount's Keep along with her. The Gallows had been her home, and now she was not at home. If she could find a way to explain why she missed a place that was home to so much grief and injustice, that would be the only way she could. Bethany was a person who craved normalcy, a life where she could wake up in the morning, have her duties, and go to bed at night without the unpredictability that her life had consisted of beforehand. She missed her family, and could not say she particularly enjoyed the Circle, but she had grown used to it, and liked many things about it. Teaching the children, exchanging excited whispers with other woman her age about handsome Templars, the jokes and games that they would play to occupy themselves, the library, with its vast collection of books to read, she could not pretend she hated it.

The past two and a half weeks should have been the best of both worlds. She was still at the Gallows, still teaching and laughing with many of the same people, but the coming battle kept an oppressive air hanging over all the mages' heads, herself as much as anyone. After all, it was her brother that was responsible for Knight Commander Meredith's death, and she was his sister. While they all faced death if the Templars breached the city, Bethany was sure a special punishment was in the their mind for her. The how of the situation she and her fellow mages found themselves in still eluded her. She never turned a blind eye to the rising tension and hostility between Meredith and Orsino, but to think that those arguments would result in all out war, it was unthinkable. Bethany had been raised to view the Templars as a fixture of the world, something like a mountain or an ocean, an unyielding natural occurrence that would always be there. To fight them? Ridiculous. To beat them? Impossible. Yet here she was, she and her friends and family, preparing to fight them, in a battle that would determine their fates. It was the most intimidating situation she could imagine.

Helping prepare the other mages for the coming battle had done much to keep her mind occupied, which was necessary to prevent her from truly thinking of the long odds they faced. Since she had plenty of experience fighting Templars alongside her brother, she was an obvious choice for the role, and had accepted it without hesitation. Now though, with all the mages inside the Keep, awaiting the word that battle was imminent, she was left alone to think. The past two days had found Bethany solemn, withdrawn, a frown on her face more often than a smile. Even if they won this battle, the Templars would be back. She had come to terms with the fact that this battle was not winnable. The most they could do was force the Templars back, but they would eventually return, with greater numbers. "We are not alone," some said. "Circles all around Thedas are rebelling. We will never again live a life in the chains of others." Bethany wished she thought the same way.

That night, the second since the mages had been moved to the Keep, was proving quite distracting, at least. Isabela had come to visit with her, and was now entertaining a group of them with bawdy stories that may or may not be true. Bethany had never cared if Isabela's stories were true or not. They were exciting. She had already heard this one before, a story about a captain and her lusty crew, and a storm they weathered. Still, she found herself engrossed in the tale. When it was over, the crowd, girls and women of all ages, began whispering excitedly and asking if the story was true or not. In predictable fashion, Isabela donned one of her smartass grins and said, "That is for me to know and you to never find out." She walked away to the sounds of disappointed groans and Bethany's giggles.

While the combat capable mages and the non-combat capable slept in different areas of the Keep, during the day they were allowed mostly free reign. The only exception was the throne room, where the nobles were kept, and the dungeons below the Keep. Bethany spent most of her time continuing to train those participating in the coming battle, and spent what little time not doing so with the younger children, who adored her. Their eager smiles when she approached them never failed to warm her heart. She had just decided to find what room the children were hiding in that night and help them prepare for bed when the massive double doors at the entrance to the Keep nudged open. Her brother entered, Merrill and Varric at his side.

The first thing Bethany noticed, being his sister, after all, was the surprising energy and vigor in his movements, the healthiness of his skin. It had only been a couple days ago that Garrett looked to be on the verge of exhaustion. Skin pale, a wound in his shoulder, eyes red and baggy. This was a completely different man she was seeing now. Garrett was having an intense conversation of some kind, but stopped to smile at her when he noticed Bethany standing nearby. She smiled worryingly back at him, watching as he ascended the steps to the Viscount's office. "How does he handle all this?" Isabela asked, sneaking up on Bethany and making her jump. "I swear, that man is not human. For one, he never had sex with me. Add in how well he handles our current situation, he has to be some type of demon in a man's skin."

"He has not been handling our circumstances that well," Bethany mumbled.

"Hawke looks fine to me," Isabela said.

"That's today." Bethany stared down at her feet. "I wish this was all over. For better or worse, I just want this to be done."

"Spoken like a true Hawke," Isabela said. "I, on the other hand, wish this fight would never happen. I would love if that army outside the walls stayed there forever, and I was able to continue making a killing sneaking food and wine into the city."

"You do realize that would never last forever? Either you would get caught, or we would run out of gold to pay you with."

Isabela sulked. "That is why its called a wish, spoilsport." The pirate eyed the door to Garrett's office curiously, tapping her left foot. "What do you say we go find out what he's talking about up there?"

Bethany could not pretend she was not curious. "I don't know. If he wanted us to know, we would be in there."

"Oh come on!" Isabela said, grabbing Bethany's hand and dragging her up the stairs. "If he has a problem, you just tell him that as the leader of the mages, you have a right to know everything."

"I'm not…" she began, but stopped when she realized the pirate would not hear anything she said anyway. Besides, it would have been an empty denial. "Leader of the mages," was to powerful a term, but Bethany could not deny that they all looked to her, and whenever their was a decision to be made among the mages, her voice seemed to matter most. Much of that had to do with her last name, Bethany assumed, but much like her brother, she did not back away, did not cower from the responsibility.

Isabela knocked once and entered the office, not even bothering to wait for an answer. Garrett was outraged until he saw who was entering his office, his expression softening immediately. "Why bother to knock if you barge in anyway?" he asked.

"I didn't want to be rude," Isabela said, absurdly. "So what is going in here?"

Garrett shook his head, though there was no anger on his face. "Oh, you know. Army of Templars outside the city that want my head on a pike. Heavily outnumbered with much worse arms. Trying my hardest to convince everyone, myself included, that we can actually win." Such words would never be spoken to anyone but the group of people in that office. "I'm glad you two are here, I was going to send for you anyway, Bethany. How are you and your friends getting along with the guardsmen?"

That was a very tricky question to answer. "We make it work," she said after a pause. "The guards listen to Aveline. We listen to them and stay out of their way." The situation was far more complicated than that, of course, but Bethany did not want to get into the details. She was not lying, they were making things work. The mages tried their best to stay out of the guardsmen's quarters unless they were sleeping, and even then only took the beds that were empty while their owners were on duty. Having so many people cramped into such a small space, with close to three times as many people as available beds, would strain anyone.

Garrett knew that, and did not press his inquiries further. "Well, enjoy tonight. It will be the last good night of sleep you get for a while, if ever."

Bethany stared at her brother in disgust. "You are supposed to inspire confidence! What kind of thing is that to say?"

Of course he smiled that stupid grin in response. "I was making sure you were listening." The grin disappeared, and the friendly atmosphere within the office dissipated. "The Templars are mobilizing. I'm going to begin moving our forces into defensive positions and preparing our weapons tonight. You and your mages will not receive your call until tomorrow morning, but you need to tell them yourself. You have already assigned leaders and roles, correct?"

Bethany nodded, "When you asked me to." That had been one of the hardest things she had ever done. So many arguments took place that night, with Bethany having to resolve many. Unfortunately, that led to having to tell hard truths, something she was never good at, something she hated, but it was her responsibility and she told those hard truths dutifully. "We are ready when you need us."

Garret nodded. He was still trying to project strength, but Bethany had grown up with him, knew nearly everything about her brother. The regret and fear in his eyes was evident. "Good. I know it will not be easy, but try to get some sleep tonight. Make sure everyone else does as well."

Three hours later, Bethany was predictably wide awake, staring in the direction of the ceiling as she lay on her cot in Aveline's office. She could not actually see the ceiling, as it was too dark. The cot belonged to the Guard-Captain, who used to sleep in her office when she first received her promotion. She had been more than willing to part with the cot, and Bethany was grateful, since it saved her from the fight for beds elsewhere in the quarters. Arguments could be fierce for those beds, and keep the people in those arguments awake for hours longer than they should be. That night, however, Bethany was awake as anyone in the damned city.

Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow it would begin, and it would not end until they won or she was dead. Try as she might to not be, Bethany was frightened. Not a little frightened, either, she was absolutely petrified of what was going to happen, and not just for herself. What would happen to the children? What about all her friends from the Circle? What about Garrett and Merrill and Isabela and Aveline and Varric? What about Vivienne? Bethany had those close to her die, but while that was not a loss she wanted to deal with again, it was inevitable. A few tears began to form in her eyes, which she quickly blinked them away.

Another hour, and Bethany gave up on sleep. She left Aveline's office, told a young woman sleeping on the floor to take the cot, and walked out into the expansive entryway of the Keep. Torches lined the walls, casting gloomy shadows all around, but there was no one patrolling, no servants scrubbing the floor. The Keep was as empty as Aveline had ever seen it. She walked towards the stairs, but before she took the first step, she noticed a faint glow coming from the direction of the Viscount's office. Inside she found her brother, at his desk writing letters. He looked up when Bethany entered, and tapped the end of the quill on the rim of the inkpot he was drawing from. "I thought I told you to get some sleep," he said gently.

"You do NOT get to tell me to sleep when you are awake yourself," she reproached him. Bethany took a seat across the desk from her brother, only just then noticing the bottle of wine, quarter-filled glass nearby. "And you are drinking, tsk-tsk. Mind if I pour myself a cup?"

Refusal appeared in Garrett's eyes for a moment, but he shook his head. "Go ahead."

The wine was good, and Bethany sipped it gingerly, trying to make it last. Garrett did not do the same, gulping the remainder of his cup and pouring another. "So what are you doing?" Bethany asked, flicking her eyes at the letter on the desk. Three others were stacked next to it.

Garrett appeared hesitant to say, his shoulders tensing up for a moment. "Letters that need to be written, for when this is over. One to Anton Freamin, thanking him and asking him to make sure Vivienne stays safe. One to Vivienne, telling her I'm sorry and that I love her. One for you and our friends, which you can read if necessary. And the one I'm writing now, which will be delivered to Lirene, copied, and distributed amongst the city, is a plea to continue fighting, to never give in to the tyranny that the Templars attempt to force on the world."

Bethany had to take a bigger sip of her wine. "This is grim talk, Brother. Are you so sure we will die?"

"What?" Garrett said, surprised. "No, no! These letters are not to be distributed in the event of my death. Well, that is a lie, the one intended for you and the others is, but the others are to be delivered when I have fled the city."

That was still grim. "So we are leaving?"

"Bethany, you know the plan. It has not changed since I told you three weeks ago. We cannot hold Kirkwall. The Templars will not stop, and we do not have the manpower or the will to fight them off. Kirkwall will fall, and the most we can do is hold them off long enough to get the mages away. The only thing that has changed is that Isabela actually came back, something I did not expect."

"Will there truly be no help? From Orlais, Ferelden, the rest of the Free Marches, anywhere?"

"No. They are all fighting their own battles."

Okay, she had to down the wine quickly now. "I guess you fooled me into believing we could really win. The part about fleeing the city kind of slipped my mind."

"I cannot fault your that. I tried to do the same." Garrett stood and stared out the window of his office, the determination returning to his eyes and his body language. "I will not lose, Bethany. I refuse. These bastards will not take you, nor the others. I do not care if it costs me my life, if the mages are able to escape, I won and they lost. That is all that matters."

Bethany stood, slightly unsteady after only one cup of wine, and stood at her brother's side. "I love you, Garrett," she said, hugging him around his midsection. "If you die to sacrifice yourself needlessly though, I will learn the most vile blood magic imaginable just so I can bring you back and punish you." Garrett laughed, heartily and earnestly, a laugh Bethany did not get to hear enough these days. Despite knowing the question would only depress him again, Bethany asked, "Did Vivienne choose to stay here in Kirkwall?" Bethany could imagine her brother asking in a way that pressured the poor woman into staying.

"I did not ask her. I will not ask her to leave. It is best if she stays."

"You need to ask her. It will hurt her more if you disappear, without giving her the choice, then it would if you died. It will haunt you forever if you just leave, some bullshit letter being your only goodbye, your only explanation. Just go, right now." Garrett opened his mouth to protest, but Bethany held up her hand. "Not a word, go."

Garrett laughed again. "I must admit, you just sounded exactly like Mother. Okay, I will go." He turned and left his office, turning around after passing through the door. "Thank you, Sister."

Bethany nodded, smiling warmly. "Go, Brother, talk to your wife."


	8. Chapter 8

**The perspective switches around during this chapter. Not sure if I will keep doing this for the length of the battle. Probably not.**

* * *

"I don't understand the damned hold up," Horker said, spitting a glob of phlegm into the water.

"It is not your bloody job to understand," Isabela said. "Just wait here and be ready to do your damn job." Honestly, sometimes Isabela could not understand her crew. Most of the time, they knew to shut up and do their jobs, but then they would have days like this where it seemed every one of them had to question her.

"I am just wondering why we don't move them mages now," Horker continued. "The bloody chain is up, even if them Templars see what we are doing, the hell can they do about it?"

Isabela shook her head, wondering why this fool was on her crew. Then she took a closer look at his body, remembered who she was and what her hobbies were, and remembered exactly why she hired morons like Horker. "Well, there is the fact that those ships outside the chain are armed with cannons and trebuchets and are more than capable of firing them at us. Then there's the possibility that they watch us load the mages onto the boats, decide 'Hey, let's see if we can find where they are going,' and are waiting to put us all in a watery grave. You know, those are two reasons not to bring the mages to the ship right now."

Shockingly, apprehension dawned on the dimwitted face of Isabela's crewmember. "Okay, captain. Sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, don't go soft on me. Just be ready to move at a moment's notice, and tell any of your fellow idiots that might have a question exactly what I just told you." Horker spit again, and walked away. Isabela shook her head in frustration. Not just because of her crew, but the entire damned situation she found herself in. Being inside a city while a battle raged would be ridiculous enough, but to stay in that city when her head was one of those being sought by the invading army? It was an unheard of situation for her. If Hawke had asked her to fight on the frontlines, Isabela's instinct to run, run fast, and run far probably would have won out over her newfound loyalty and conscience. Stupid, Hawke, he was all to blame for that. He was smart enough not to ask that of her though, and all Isabela had to do was help defend the Gallows and keep her crew ready to smuggle the mages out when the time came.

Hawke had tried his best to convince Isabela, and himself, it seemed, that they would not need to run until the battle was over. The pirate knew better. Oh, she had no doubt that Hawke would lead a valiant defense of Kirkwall. She fought by his side too many times and saw him do too many unbelievable things to think any differently. Hell, Hawke could probably manage to cut down a hundred or two hundred men just by himself, and have no one believe the story afterwards. At some point though, the Templar numbers would be too much. Isabela did not feel worry for the people of Kirkwall, she honestly could not care less about them. She just worried that Hawke would sacrifice himself and his friends in the attempt to win this battle. The thought of Hawke or Merrill being cut down by unforgiving Templar swords made Isabela's blood boil, her fists tighten in rage.

She could not be angry right now. She had to keep a clear head. A gust of wind brought the salty smell of the sea to her nose, the taste to her lips, immediately clearing the dark thoughts from her head. With a motivation to her every step, she marched over to her crew to make sure, once again, that everything was ready. Maybe she should go over the plan one more time, to make sure these idiots understood.

* * *

Merrill could never make herself feel comfortable in Hawke's mansion. Everything was just too big, it was too easy to get lost. She would set out to find the kitchen, and end up in the wine cellar. She would seek the library and find herself in a bedroom. Even when she did find the right room, she would then struggle to find what she came for in the first place. Usually that applied to the library, which by itself was the size of her home, with enough books that Merrill had once been convinced that she would find the lost knowledge of the Dalish people if she looked through every single book there. Vivienne had made up what she called a catalog system, to help Merrill find any books she wanted to read. All Merrill had to do was look through the cards, arranged by book title in alphabetical order, and there would be a card with the book name, author name, and location within the library. The elf sometimes found herself forgetting to use the catalog though, engrossed as she was in her own thoughts, which led to someone wandering in an hour or two later to find her frustratingly looking through every book for the one she wanted.

That night, she was trying to remember how to get to the armory. The Templars were preparing to move, Hawke and Aveline were moving troops into position, and Merrill wanted to be ready when Hawke came back. Unfortunately, she had spent half an hour now trying to find the armory, where she had only been once before, and then only to stash her armor and staff. Now she could not find it, of course. Most of the servants that would normally be here had already been moved to the Keep, and those still around were busy with other duties. That left Merrill to wander blindly, trying her best to remember how to find the armory and failing miserably. She wandered into yet another bedroom, where she found Vivienne packing a suitcase with clothing. "Oh, sorry," she immediately apologized, turning to leave.

"Its alright, Merrill, wait," Vivienne said. When Merrill reentered the room, she asked, "Actually, would you mind helping me? I will never finish packing everything I need by myself."

Merrill nodded, shy as always when around Hawke's wife. It was not something Merrill could explain or rationalize, even with herself. Vivienne was far from an intimidating woman, at least not with Merrill. She was very kind and always helpful. Maybe it was jealousy, some subconscious desire to not completely like the woman. After all, Vivienne was married to the man Merrill still held deep feelings for. Despite her desire to make some excuse and run as fast as she could out of the room, the nervous, frightened smile that Vivienne was too much, and Merrill nodded. "What are you packing for?" she asked.

"Garrett came to me and told me of his plans to flee the city. I have decided to go with him."

Of course, that would make sense. Hawke had tried to avoid that conversation, and Merrill was glad he finally found the courage to talk to his wife. Vivienne went over to the dresser, pulling smallclothes from the drawers and handing them to Merrill, who blushed as she put them in the suitcase. Next came various skirts and pants and shirts, which Vivienne folded and packed neatly while Merrill did her best to imitate. The silence between the two became unbearable to the elf, who could never stand uncomfortable silences. There was no doubt the silence between the two was uncomfortable, at least to her. "So, you decided to come with us?"

"Of course," Vivienne said, as if there was never any doubt. "Garrett is my husband, and I love him. I cannot believe he was going to leave without telling me."

The annoyance in the woman's voice was certainly real, that was evident even to someone as bad at reading people as Merrill. "He was worried you would only go because you felt you had to, and did not want you to hate him later." When Vivienne did not say anything immediately, Merrill asked, "Do you feel like you have to go with him, even if you do not want to?" Vivienne stopped folding the skirt in her hands, staring blankly at the suitcase. "It would hurt Hawke more if you force yourself to go, and spent the rest of your life resenting him. You need to be sure." Merrill carefully placed the shirt in her hands inside the suitcase, and made to leave the room again.

Again, she was nearly away when Vivienne said, "I do not want to lose him." Merrill stopped, looking inside the room. Tears trickled down Vivienne's face, falling on the skirt in her hands. "I love him."

As uncomfortable as she felt, Merrill could not leave her like that. She did not know how to make Vivienne feel better, but she would try, for Hawke's sake at least. "I know its hard. It was hard when I left my people, but I thought I was doing the right thing. I was blinded by what I thought I had to do, rather than what was actually best for me. I don't regret leaving, sure I have my moments where I miss Marethari and I miss hearing stories around a fire. I guess I am rambling now, but the point is that I should have thought about my decision more, and not just done what I thought I was supposed to. You should think as well, so that whatever you decide, you will have no regrets."

Vivienne's face took an expression of pure concentration. It was strikingly similar to the expression Hawke had when he was focused on his thoughts. "Its probably a little late for such introspection."

"No, not at all," Merrill assured. "It will be at least a day or two before this battle reaches a decisive point. You will spend most of that time standing around bored, I'm sure."

Vivienne laughed lightly. "That is true, I suppose. Thank you, Merrill. I know we have never been the best of friends, but I am glad Garrett has someone like you as a friend and to stand next to him in battle."

Merrill smiled sheepishly, and finally was able to leave the room. She had just begun to walk down the hall when she remembered where she was supposed to be going. Vivienne would probably know where the armory was.

* * *

The children appeared to be blissfully unaware of what was happening while being escorted to the Gallows, something Bethany thanked the Maker for. It was not until they were safe, with armed security posted everywhere, that they noticed the tears Bethany was holding back and asked her what was wrong, why they were being separated from everyone else. Doing the best she could to hold her emotions in check, she said, "We are keeping you here so you will be safe. The rest of us will join you later, and we will all leave Kirkwall together."

"Why are we leaving Kirkwall?" they asked excitedly, focusing on that part of what Bethany said rather than the keeping them safe part. Exactly as Bethany hoped. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere better. Somewhere where we are free to live life, without mean men watching us all the time." The children had liked that, and after a few goodbyes, Bethany was off. Not until she was sure she was out of sight did she let her tears fall. They were weak tears, tears that a stronger woman would never cry, but she was who she was. Being strong had always been her brother's duty. She wiped the tears away and took a few deep breaths before continuing on. It was time to fight.

The atmosphere was grim back in the Keep, where the others were readying themselves. Some flung minor spells at targets. Some stood in groups, engrossed in strategic conversations. Many spent their time with a friend or lover. Bethany was content to sit alone, speaking politely with those who approached her but otherwise keeping to herself. It had always been her tradition before any fight, no matter how big or small, to reflect on what it was she fought for. It was the way she motivated herself and kept her focus sharp, even for the most minor battles. Her motivation before this battle was obvious. She was fighting for everything she cared for. Her life, her brother's life, the lives of all the mages she had met and befriended over the last six years. She was fighting for the children she had grown so attached to, the closest thing she had to children of her own. She was fighting for the friends she and Hawke had made over the years, that were their closest family besides each other. The resolve steeled itself in Bethany's mind, and she gripped her staff tightly.

* * *

"It is beautiful out here tonight," Hawke said, staring up at the brilliant shine of the stars in the night sky. The moon was half full, shining its light down upon them. There was not a single cloud to be seen, and the temperature could not have been more perfect. Hawke could not have found it all more insulting. A night like this did not deserve the bloodshed soon to be spilled.

"Whatever," Aveline said, eyes focused intently on the army below but her expression and tone suggesting she agreed with him. "How many would you say are down there?"

Hawke knew the number, or close enough. "About five thousand. More or less, that is the number to round to."

Aveline sighed. "We would have to kill about six men each. Taking into account the men who will die without killing anyone, and the burden we will naturally bear, that figure is probably somewhere between fifteen and twenty each. Think you can handle that?"

"Heh. Of course." Hawke looked around at the men standing at his side. Most of them were City Guard, Aveline's soldiers, the best that their army could field. Some of those men and women had fought in an army of some kind, in Ferelden or Orlais mostly. They had a couple of archers from Rivain, who were better shots than even Varric was. The vast majority of these soldiers would be fighting a war for the first time though, and it was evident on their faces. Hawke remembered his first battle, as part of Cailan Theirin's army at Ostagar. Facing down hundreds of darkspawn, the electricity in the air beforehand, the first time his blade cut past the armor of a foe and was drenched in the foul, black blood. He had gone lightheaded before the battle, and spent half an hour vomiting afterwards. Hawke knew the fear these men and women felt.

Shouts came from down below, the Templar commanders giving their final orders and speeches. Guess it was time for Hawke to do the same. He descended the stairs from the top of the wall down to the courtyard below, greatsword in one hand and helmet in the other. The servants had polished his armor the previous day, and it shone a jet black in the moonlight, its sharp edges giving Hawke the appearance of a demon. Hawke understood the importance of appearances, especially to inexperienced soldiers such as these, but it still seemed a waste considering the condition the armor would be in soon. He stood before his army, looking into each of their eyes. A large variety of emotions could be seen among them. Fear and anger were the most common, but he could see dedication as well. There were a few eyes clouded with bloodlust. Hawke would need to make sure those soldiers did not take things too far. He had seen it at Ostagar, the way a man could lose control on the battlefield, slashing at bodies that were already dead and cutting memorabilia off of them. That would not happen here.

He continued to look around, spotting his friends and family. Varric atop the wall, flanked by five other crossbowmen, watching Hawke with the same amused expression as always. Bethany, standing with a group of mages atop a battlement, scanning the battlefield. Aveline had descended the stairs with him, and was fingering the hilt of her blade. Merrill was leaning against a wall, picking at her fingernails. The archers were at their posts along the walls, the mages atop the battlements so they could fling spells down upon the Templars. Melee troops were stationed along the walls, but the majority were positioned in courtyards below, guarding the gates. Hawke made this decision based on the siege weapons he saw below, of which there were far more battering rams to get through the gates than ladders or siege towers to scale the walls. The Templars were unknowingly making things easier that way. If they were willing to lose the men, scaling the walls would be much harder to stop.

A roar from outside the walls shook the ground, thousands of voices letting loose their battle cry. Hawke took a deep breath, put on his helmet, and swung his sword to point at the gate behind him. "Listen to them! That is five thousand men outside those walls, and all of them want your blood!" A murmur went through the soldiers, fear being voiced. "Yes, embrace that fear! Fear keeps you alive! No true soldier ever faces battle without fear! You may wonder why I say that, you may think that fear is what makes a man run from battle! No! That is cowardice, and cowardice should never be confused with fear! I want all of you to face your fears, know what it is that makes you fear that army out there! Your families, friends, your life! Use the fear of losing those things you hold dearest to motivate you now!"

"I know that the Templar order have always served as some type of heroic organization to you all. You were raised to respect them in all things, at all times, that they served the Maker himself and should never be opposed. We all know this is not true! We saw what Meredith did with power, how she was corrupted by it and brought this city to the brink of destruction! These Templars are little different! They do not seek justice! They do not seek righteousness! They do not do the Maker's work! They want to put us all to the sword, for no reason but our defiance of their corruption!"

"I have fought Templars before, and can attest to their mortality! My companions, who you all know well, have fought them as well! They are no different from you, and likely have no more experience in battle! There is no reason to fear them, none! Today, we prove that one city united for just cause can beat back those who do not fight for a cause! Today, we will win! For Kirkwall!"

"For Kirkwall!" The chant continued for a full minute, repeated over and over, causing a swell to rival the noise the Templars had created. Hawke raised his sword, causing them to cheer again. He cast his gaze over them all, reveling in the sincerity with which his army cheered. Varric was clapping and cheering himself. Aveline stared at the soldiers with a proud smile. Merrill and Bethany were both jumping and pumping their fists as they cheered. Hawke imprinted those sights in his mind as he turned and ascended the stairs to the top of the wall again. He had ended his speech just in time. Three Templar battering rams, with canopies covered in soaked animal hides, were being led through the press towards the gates.

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**Never written full on battle chapters before. Hope I do a good job. Starting next chapter, its full on battle.**


	9. Chapter 9

"Archers!" Garret shouted, voice rising above the commotion below. "Fire on those rams! Mages, rain fire down on them!"

The smile on Yaren's face, a mage who Bethany did not like, was more than a little disturbing to her, but she had no time to think about it. Focusing entirely on her spells, she threw down fireballs on the closest approaching ram, watching as they mostly bounced ineffectively off the wet hides covering the canopies protecting them. A few Templars were set aflame, abandoning the machines to roll around in the dirty, trying to put the fires out. Unfortunately, any men lost from the rams were replaced quickly, and the steady progress continued mostly unabated. Every arrow was ineffective as well, with only one managing to find its mark in a Templar's neck.

While the rams continued moving forward, the ladders and siege towers began doing the same. Garrett spoke to three men next to him, who began shouting down to the soldiers manning the trebuchets. The whipping sound of the first trebuchet to fire its payload of rocks made Bethany jump, but its aim was true, and she watched as a section of a siege tower was ripped away, taking many of the soldiers inside with it. She continued to launch fireballs, the stress of the situation already beginning to wear on her. A battering ram further down the wall from her was taken down by the combined assault of the mages in that direction, and moments later Bethany and Yaren hit one of the rams in their range at the same time to eliminate it as well. She could feel her powers weakening already, and reached for one of the lyrium potions stashed nearby for their use. Four had already been used. At this rate, the mages would be a non-factor within two hours.

Despite the efforts to stop them, four separate battering rams reached the gates. Hawke signaled the order as he shouted it. "Gaatlok!" Remembering just how loud the bombs were, and being positioned just above a gate, Bethany backed away slightly and told the others around her to do the same. Even with her hands covering her ears, the sound of the explosion was all too loud, a mix of fire, thunder, splintering wood and human screams. At the same time, a cluster of three gaatlok bombs were sent flying through the air by a trebuchet, impacting into a siege tower and sending it collapsing to the ground, crushing the couple hundred within and around it.

There were a few minutes of rest allowed to Bethany and those around her, which allowed her to observe the battle around her. Things seemed to be going well so far. Every battering ram that reached one of the four gates, of which there had been five, lay in a mess of splinters, blood and body parts. The collapsed siege tower was smoldering amongst Templars trying to avoid its flames, while the other continued forward, missing the section where the trebuchet had done damage and another section higher up where a catapult had sent a spear through the wood. That tower was still advancing slowly forward though, and all the men manning ladders were still moving forward as well, despite the corpses lining their path where archers had hit their mark. The Templars' own archers had moved forward and were sending cover fire, and Bethany could see a few of her fellow defenders being dragged down from the wall, arrows embedded in their torsos. The Templars were making their progress, slowly but steadily.

The ladders reached the walls, under constant duress, twenty minutes later. Bethany had just refreshed herself with a lyrium potion, feeling the effects and knowing she would need a prolonged break from the battle soon. She would not walk away without doing her part here though. Winter's Grasp froze an unsuspecting Templar as he neared the top of the ladder, blocking the progress of everyone below and allowing four soldiers on the wall to push the ladder away, sending it crashing to the ground below. Elsewhere along the wall, Templar troops were reaching the top, most of them being cut down immediately. A ladder impacted the wall near Bethany at the same time that two battering rams neared the gate below. A gaatlok bomb took care of one, but the other began smashing into the gate. Summoning much of her remaining strength, she unleashed a Blizzard spell on the area of the ram, watching with satisfaction as the wet hide served its intended effect and froze. The weight of the canopy was too much, and it collapsed onto the ram, crushing a few Templars. The remaining of those that manned the contraption were easy prey for the archers along the wall.

Bethany continued to launch spells at approaching Templar troops, for how long she did not know, until the voice of her brother rang split through everything else, ordering the mages to retreat. Groups of archers were already running the walls to take their places, and the authority in Garrett's voice was not to be questioned. All but one mage moved to obey, and Bethany gripped Yaren's arm tightly, twisting him around to face her. "We have to leave!" she shouted above the sounds of battle around them.

"You leave if you so desire, I am fighting!" Yaren shouted back.

Not two seconds later, an arrow pierced the side of his head, sending a spray of blood onto Bethany and Yaren's body tumbling to the ground. Surprisingly, Bethany did not feel sadness, but rather anger. A near uncontrollable anger, unlike anything she had felt in her entire life. It took every bit of self control she possessed to resist kicking the poor, dead mage's corpse. She settled for staring down at Yaren until someone gripped her arm and began pulling her away.

Garrett was waiting at the bottom of the steps leading down when she descended them, relief overwhelming him when Bethany appeared. Along the way, she had passed by Aveline, who was shouting orders with all the authority Garret could. "Are you okay?" Garret asked, his concern emanating intensely through his gaze.

No, she almost said. No, I am not okay. "How long have we been fighting?" she asked instead. Up there, in the heat of battle, it was impossible to know.

"Two hours," Garrett told her. Absurdly, he smiled at her. Why is he smiling? "We are doing quite well. The Templars had no idea we possessed the gaatlok bombs, and did not bring many archers to cover the approach of their rams and ladders. Another three or four hours at most, and they will be forced to retreat and regroup."

Bethany tried to force herself to smile, but she was incapable. "That is good news."

"Yes," her brother agreed. His eyes squinted as he studied her. Bethany did not bother to hide the pain, weariness, and anger she felt. "Go with the others. Rest. We will need you later." His expression said the words he could not say then. I am sorry, but I cannot comfort you now. Bethany finally forced that smile, and followed the crowds of mages that were retreating from the wall.

At some point after reaching the Lowtown shop that was being used as the temporary shelter for those injured in the battle, Bethany fell asleep. She did not remember when she fell asleep. She had sat down, back against the wall, watching the medics tend to a variety of injuries. Most of what she saw was not too serious, mainly arrows in the arms or shoulders, with a few suffering wounds from Templar soldiers that managed to gain the walls and do damage before being cut down. Bethany was considering whether to help the medics when she succumbed to her weariness.

She woke reluctantly, pain shooting through her back and shoulders due to the awkward position in which she slept. With a grimace, she stood and began walking around the room, getting her blood flowing and her muscles working again. The medics were still working their spells and poultices on soldier's wounds, and Bethany noticed the increased number of injured men immediately. The ratio of arrow wounds to sword and axe wounds had closed since she last saw. Bethany hurried over to one of the mages who was fighting alongside here, a woman named Genna. "How long was I asleep?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. About an hour and a half. Are you okay?"

No, I am not. Why does everyone ask that? "I am fine. How fares the battle?"

Genna put on a brave face, one clearly forced. "We still hold, though the Templars are getting closer. A few Templar ladder formations managed to gain the walls briefly, which is why you see more wounds from melee now, but they were fought back, their ladders destroyed. The Champion believes they will retreat soon, if only for a few hours."

"Good. We should hurry back to the walls."

"No,' Genna said. "The Champion has ordered that the mages stay here for now and help treat the wounded."

"To hell with what my brother ordered," Bethany said, fuming. She marched towards the door, only to have four city guardsmen block her path. "Get out of my way," she hissed.

"Apologies, Miss Hawke, but the Champion has ordered…"

"I know what he ordered, and I do not care. Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

The guardsmen exchanged a look. "We cannot do that."

The air around Bethany began to crackle with unrestrained magical energy. "Is it really so much more important to keep me prisoner than for the four of you to be on those walls fighting?" The guardsmen did not answer, and Bethany only grew angrier. A tense standoff between the two sides lasted twenty seconds, until Genna pulled her away. "Why are we not fighting?" Bethany asked again, to no one in particular.

"Your brother will call on us soon enough," Genna said. "Might as well enjoy the break now." Bethany could not help but get angry at such a statement, but she did not voice that anger. Instead, she joined the medics and their efforts to treat the wounded, of which there seemed to be more carried into the building with every minute.

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Varric was not one to compliment people trying to kill him, but he had to admit that these Templar bastards were very persistent. Piles of bodies were forming natural barriers at various points along the base of the wall, and fresh troops would just pull them away. The dwarf fired a storm of arrows into a crowd moving forward, taking most of them down, but they just kept coming. He took a count of his remaining crossbow bolts, grimacing when he was done. At his current pace, he was fifteen minutes from running out. If he upped his pace, which he would probably have to because of the number of Templars storming the walls, he could probably cut that time down to ten minutes. "I need some bolts up here!" he shouted. "Bring whatever we have!"

One of the crossbowmen at his side ran off to retrieve ammunition. That would not help. Of the fifteen archers and crossbowmen that began the battle at Varric's side, only six remained, the rest either dead or injured. Not for the first time, Varric was glad to be a dwarf. Many of the shots aimed in his direction would have killed him if he was two or three inches taller, let alone a normal sized man. He aimed through the crennel ahead, which was a perfect height for him, and let lose another bolt, catching a Templar through the neck. A gaatlok narrowly missed the third siege tower to approach, but managed to decimate a dozen or so men behind it. Kirkwall's location had proven advantageous for a few reasons, and the mountainous terrain was one of the biggest. There were simply not enough trees to build siege towers in the bulk you would need to make invading Kirkwall easy. The Planasene Forest lay to the west, with all the trees they would have ever needed, but the Vimmark Mountains made accessing the forest near impossible without controlling Kirkwall first.

They had more than enough siege weapons to eventually take the city though, Varric could see that. As far as the eye could see, there were battering rams and ladders, with the soldiers to man them. The only thing that would stop them from coming at the walls and gates nonstop was the need to clear the bodies and splintered wood out of their way. Varric figured that would take them at least half a day, maybe longer with archers on the walls to harass them. As he continued to fire, all the logistics of the battle running through his overactive brain at the same time, he saw a fourth siege tower lumber forward, just as the approaching third was ripped apart by the combined efforts of two trebuchets. That was the story of the entire Maker-damned battle to this point. Every Templar loss was negated by immediate reinforcements. At best, they had killed or incapacitated five hundred men to this point, and there was a replacement for every single one.

The extra bolts arrived twelve minutes after Varric called for them, with the Templars still being held off the wall. Over the next two hours, the closest they came to gaining a foothold on the walls was when a Templar captain, identifiable by the special decoration on his breastplate and helmet, came up a ladder like a force of nature, striking down everyone around him with a combination of brute force and brilliant skill. Any doubt Varric had about his importance as a target was eliminated when the Captain looked to his right, saw Varric, and began running towards him as fast as he could, cutting down everyone who got in his way. Behind the captain, his men filled in the space he opened, trying their best to hold as soldiers closed in around them. Varric never had time to help fight them off, or even watch his companions try, as the Templar captain charged his way, the three bolts Varric managed to fire off bouncing off his breastplate.

A wall of Aveline's guardsmen blocked the captain's path, keeping him occupied just long enough for her to rush past Varric and shield first into the Templar, knocking him to the ground. Varric only caught moments of the battle after that, he was supposed to be dealing with the men below the wall, after all. What he did see was a blur of swords and the constant presence of Aveline's shield as it skillfully alternated between blocking the Templar's strikes and bashing into him. Varric did managed to see the final cut. The Templar captain discarded his shield, hacked to pieces as it was, and gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands. With a speed the dwarf had only seen from Hawke and Meredeith, the man began swinging his sword violently, keeping Aveline on the defensive. A few cuts managed to scrape her armor, and for a very brief moment, Varric worried that his friend would fall. Just as he aimed his crossbow in that direction, hoping just to distract the Templar long enough for Aveline to recover, her shield flashed up quicker than one would think possible, knocking his sword away. Without a moment's hesitation she drove the point of her own sword into the space between the weak point beneath the armpit, the steel biting into the Templar's ribs and driving into his heart.

The Templars that gained the wall after their captain were soon cut down, the ladder knocked away from the wall. After that, the battle settled back into its earlier groove, with the Templars using their rams and ladders to try and break the defenses, only to be driven back. Finally, the order to retreat came from below, and the cheers broke out along the walls. Varric nearly dropped Bianca to the ground, his arms screaming with pain. Someone slapped him on the back, which made him drop to one knee. When he stood, the cheering was already dying down. Hawke stood in the courtyard below. "Don't get too cocky," he said, grinning himself. "They will be back, and we will drive them away again!" The lifting of his sword was answered with more cheers.

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**Couldn't figure out a way to keep it interesting while only following Bethany. I think it worked out better this way.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I am really getting these out quick, man. Thank you for the kind words about the last chapter, I've never written a chapter that was all battle before, and I'm glad I did a good job. Unfortunately for our heroes, the battle is far from over.**

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Aveline never tore into a piece of meat with the voraciousness she did the piece of roast before her, juice running down her chin and spilling onto her shirt, unnoticed until she had eaten half the slice, She placed the meat down, and was greeted by laughter from the guardsmen sitting at the table with her. Aveline tried to glare, but began laughing herself. It was a strange moment, free of tension and worry, that quickly dissipated when everyone went back to eating.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence, the rest and food in their stomachs both welcome. Though she probably should have been thinking of strategies for the next phase of the battle, all she could think of was her encounter with the Templar captain. The speed with which that man had swung his sword was nearly unlike anything she had ever seen. Hawke swung a sword that fast, maybe Meredith as well. While her pride would never allow her to admit it to anyone besides herself, she had been more than a little lucky. When she knocked his sword away with the shield, it had been pure instinct and guesswork. She could not honestly say she knew the Templar would bring his sword down on her the way he did. If he were to have cut diagonally, or horizontally, she would not be sitting at that table right now. The thought of her near death did not frighten her. She had faced far worse mortal threats than that man before, and come closer to death. Now, she was thinking the same thing she did after every near death encounter in her life. She would learn from her mistakes, and never make them again.

Donnic sat at her side, none the worse for wear physically or mentally, it seemed. He had fought valiantly during the battle, and her love and pride at being his wife had never been more. The few opportunities she was allowed to check on him, he always seemed to either be cutting down men climbing up ladders, or directing arrow fire with no lack of authority or confidence. Aveline was trying her hardest not to think of the likely possibility one of them would die and leave the other alone. While one would think it would be easier for her, having lost her husband Wesley to the darkspawn, it would not be. And Donnic, that sweet, strong, caring man, Aveline hoped she did not leave him. He did not deserve the pain she had once felt.

The Templars began another push five hours after their previous attempt was denied. The mid-morning sun shone bright in the sky, the heat making Aveline sweat profusely beneath her armor. She was donning a lighter set to combat the heat, but there was simply no way to stay cool on a summer day such as this. The heat would help them at least, making every step the Templars took a fight of its own, and the weight of their rams and ladders harder to bear. The men guarding the walls in the interim, mainly green boys desperate to prove themselves, were relieved of duty, more than a few complaining loudly and some having to be removed from the wall physically. Hawke gave a small speech, knowing that at this point, he had said everything that needed to be said already, and then Aveline climbed the steps to the top of the wall at his side. The first thing she noticed was the amount of men the Templar were sending forward, and the amount of ladders and rams they carried. It made the previous night's assault look tame in comparison. If Hawke showed any concern, he did not show it, surveying the battlefield with a calm anyone that knew him would expect. "Well, here we go," he whispered, nudging Aveline with his elbow. "Archers! Fire! Trebuchets, rain hell down on them!"

The first ladders sent dust flying from the top of the wall near Aveline fifteen minutes later. Down below, a ram was slamming into the gate, the cracking of wood into wood reverberating as if she was right next to it. A gaatlok was sent down just as the first men came into view in front of the Guard-Captain, her sword penetrating his skull at the cheek. Another ladder appeared to the right, with Hawke running over to take position in front of it. "Archers, take these bastards out! Forget the others, defend the walls!" he shouted. Four men hurried over to help him push the ladder away, while the archers began focusing their attention solely on the men attempting to breach the gates and climb the walls.

Despite their efforts, the first Templars gained a foothold on the wall within the first hour, on the far right of the wall where Aveline stood. Hawke turned to run and join the fight until she held out a hand to stop him. "You are needed here! I will handle this!" She then sprinted away before her friend could protest, cutting down men climbing ladders along the way. When she reached the spot where Templars were fighting her guardsmen, with reinforcements still climbing up the ladder and jostling to find room on the wall, she began pushing through her guardsmen, moving towards the enemies. "Use your shields!" she shouted. "Push them towards the edge of the wall!"

Led by Aveline, the soldiers formed a wall with their shields, moving forward behind them while prodding with their swords. A few of the Templars tried to replicate what the guardsmen were doing, but without a concentrated effort they only found themselves continuing to be pushed back. Once the Templars' backs were against the edge of the wall, blocking access from the ladder, the guardsmen's swords began finding the weak spots in their armor, the Templars unable to effectively defend themselves in their cramped space. When they were all dead, Aveline helped push the ladder down. "Throw these bodies down to join their friends!" she shouted. She hurried back to join Hawke.

The first battering ram to breach a gate occurred half an hour later. The crack of wood and a shout from Merrill made Aveline's head snap in her direction, and she saw the first Templars rush through the gates, steel ringing against steel as they were met by the troops waiting for them. "Why was no gaatlok dropped on that ram?!" Hawke shouted.

"We are almost out!" A soldier manning the trebuchet shouted back.

"Maker damn these bastards!" Hawke hissed to no one in particular. "Aveline, man the walls!" he said angrily. Gripping his sword tightly, he ran down the stairs and in the direction of the skirmish near the gate.

Aveline knew they were minutes from retreat. Retreat was not a loss, it was expected, but it was still not something she wanted to do. Hawke began cutting through Templars with a blood thirsty speed and power, but Aveline could not spend her time watching. A ram was approaching one of the two gates to the right of her. "Mages, focus all your spells on the rams!" she shouted. "Varric! Get those bastards below you! Archers, concentrate fire on the closest ladders!" Aveline kept a close eye on the walls, rushing to any spot where Templars were reaching the top and pushing them back. Down at the gate, Hawke, Merrill, and the guardsmen with them were holding back the tide, the corpses for both sides piling up at their feet, though the Templar casualties decisively outnumbered the guardsmen.

When the gaatloks ran out, three hours into the battle, it took mere minutes for the battering rams to begin breaking down the gates, one by one. Within half an hour of the second gate's breach, all of them lay splintered open. Nearly every troop wielding a sword or axe was diverted to defend the entrances the courtyards beyond. Aveline was part of the troops waiting at the middle gate, her fellow guardsmen at her side. The Templars came rushing through the gate, a war cry on all of their lips. Shields and bodies clashed at the threshold. The press of Templars outnumbered Aveline and her soldiers, but they stood their ground, pushed back, took every opportunity to stab at the Templars. She could hear the archers above loosening their longbows and crossbows, could hear the men falling dead beyond the broken gate, but the strength of the press never faltered as the dead were replaced at a moment's notice.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was only minutes, Aveline's strength began to fail, and her feet grudgingly slid backwards, the press too much. She looked at the soldiers to either side of her, saw the weariness in their muscles and pleading in their eyes, and nodded. "For Kirkwall!" she yelled, just before pushing as hard as she could against the Templar directly in front of her. He gave way, moving backwards just enough to give Aveline room to cut him down. The guardsmen around her did the same, and the battle between the two sides began. A sword cut horizontally at Aveline's neck, and she ducked below it before cutting a leg and throat. A shield bashed into her, but she recovered in time to block the follow-up and stab the Templar in the neck. Two guardsmen behind her teamed up to cut down a man behind her, just before one was stabbed in the back. The call for the archers and crossbowmen to retreat barely registered with her hearing, which was not helped when the flat of a blade struck the side of her helmet. She fought purely on instinct, desire to win, and fear of losing, the men she fought nothing more than targets for her blade, indistinguishable from each other. She did not know if they were young, old, captains or novices, good men or bad, and it did not matter. Blood dripped off her sword and covered both her face and armor, which was showing the scrapes of battle as well. Not all of the blood belonged to the Templars, and the bodies of her comrades began to fall around her. She would have to grieve later, as she focused solely on cutting down everyone she could.

She continued to fight and kill until the order came for the retreat. The flow of Templars into the city had lessened somewhat, allowing Aveline to turn her back without fear of being stabbed. The top of the walls were now occupied solely by Templars rushing to join the fray and their archers, who were taking up position to fire at those retreating. Aveline hurried away, never running in a straight line. Five arrows struck the ground near her at different times, but she ignored them and continued running. Merrill and Bethany were ahead of her, and when Bethany tripped, Aveline was there to lift her to her feet and provide support as they continued running. The poor girl had a cut on her cheek, which thankfully was not bleeding very much, and her eyes were nearly closed from exhaustion. "Stay with us, Bethany," Aveline whispered, loud enough to know she was being heard. "We are almost safe, stay with me." Merrill supported Bethany from the other side, and the three women ran as fast as they could.

Of course, Hawke was somehow up ahead, still shouting for everyone to retreat. He cast a quick gaze in Bethany's direction, the pain evident in his eyes, but just as quickly he was gone, running past them. Soldiers were hurrying into alleyways and buildings, taking cover. Aveline settled for the closest alleyway she could find that was safe, dragging Bethany and Merrill with her. She stared out onto the main street, taking note of the faces she saw as they ran by. When she Donnic, a weight she did not even realize had been there was lifted from her heart, and she managed a thin smile. Donnic did not see her, but that was okay. They could find each other later. "Hurry!" someone shouted. "Hurry, take cover!" Aveline covered Bethany with her body, and pressed her hands over the mage's ears. Merrill curled up into an impossibly small ball, covering her own ears as well. The explosion shook the ground like an earthquake, causing some to scream in fright. Aveline's ears rang from the deafening sound. The sound of stone collapsing was the first thing her ears could hear when they recovered, lasting for a solid two minutes. Beneath the overwhelming sound of the Lowtown buildings collapsing were the distant sounds of screams as Templars were caught beneath the rubble. When it was finally over, she removed herself from her position over Bethany, who managed a weary smile, and said, "I'm fine, I'm okay."

Aveline cautiously stepped out on the nearby street when it was over to see how effective a roadblock they had formed. She was pleasantly surprised. It may have come at the cost of people's homes, but they had managed to form walls of stones standing at least ten feet high, and on one street standing twelve feet high. It would take the Templars awhile to deal with those obstacles, and in the meantime they could harass those efforts, much as they had when the Templars were removing the bodies of their friends and the remains of their battering rams. Hawke had apparently had that idea, of course, as archers and crossbowmen were already in position on the roofs overlooking the rubble, firing at enemies Aveline could not see. She kept an eye out for arrows coming their way as she helped Bethany to Lirene's Ferelden Imports, the building Hawke designated as his headquarters for the second phase of the battle.

Inside the shop, now one of the most respected and visited in Lowtown, much of that due to Hawke's influence, he was standing over a table in the side room, where a map of Lowtown was rolled out. The corners were held in place by unlit candles, which if this went well would be lit later that night. Hawke looked up when Aveline entered the room, and immediately frowned at his sister. "Are you hurt, Bethany?" he asked softly.

"Stop it, Garret," she said curtly. "We are fighting a war, in case you forgot, injuries happen."

Aveline could tell that Hawke was biting his tongue, forcing himself not to say anything else. Bethany had been merciless with him the previous night, after the Templars retreated. "How dare you treat me like a child?!" she had screamed, spit flying onto her brother's face. It was the angriest Aveline had ever seen the normally shy and respectful mage. She spent minutes yelling about how she wanted to defend her home just as much as he did, that it was unfair to keep her prisoner while others put their lives on the line to defend her, that she had spent far too much of her life letting others fight her battles. Bethany seemed to let loose every frustration she ever had with her brother, until Hawke forced her into a hug. That just caused her to start hitting him, and he did not fight back as she pounded his torso with her fists. When she eventually stopped, the two of them held each other, until Bethany stopped crying and apologies were exchanged.

Afterwards, the two acted as if nothing happened, but Hawke knew that he would just reopen those wounds if he argued now. He nodded at his sister and waved her, Aveline, and Merrill over to join him. "That rubble will take some time to clear. We should be able to hold firm long enough to rest and recover. We will continue to fortify the area and lay traps along the stairs up to Hightown as well."

"We can't get back down to Lowtown without using those stairs," Merrill said. "How are we going to get back down here if the Templars are coming up? I don't think we can fight them."

"Nor would we try," Hawke said. "We will use the lifts the dwarven merchants built to lift their goods from the docks up to Hightown. We had them lifted up before the battle so the Templars could not use them, and we will use them to go back down if we cannot hold Hightown. From there it is only a short trip across the water to the Gallows."

Aveline shuddered. She hated those things. During an intense training session in her third year as Guard-Captain, she broke her leg and was unable to walk up the intimidating number stairs from Lowtown to Hightown. The guards with her offered to carry her, or have one of the wagons used to transport goods up the stairs carry her, but she assumed the lift would do less to hurt her pride. One frightful ride spent with her knees to her chest later, she decided to never do that again. Now she might not have a choice. "I guess we have no choice," she muttered.

Hawke chuckled. "Sorry, unless you insist on cutting through the Templars on the stairs, the lifts are your only choice." The smile on his face was grating. He had laughed quite heartily when he heard about Aveline's lift ride, of course.

"You're right," Aveline said. "The lifts it is."

"Good." Hawke stood straight and looked around at all three of them. "We have a few hours. Find a cot and get some sleep if you can."


	11. Chapter 11

Isabela had never been good with kids, but when the first explosions could be heard in the distance, she was the one pressured into talking to them. As the explosions continued in the distance, and the kids grew more and more curious, she only had to work harder to distract them enough to avoid the truth. It would have been easier to tell them exactly what was going on, but the senior mages insisted the kids be kept in the dark. It was bloody exhausting. Any doubt she had about whether she hated kids or not were definitely answered. When she was not busy with them, she was left to feel guilty that she was not fighting. They were kept in the dark out here at the Gallows, separated from the rest of Kirkwall by the bay. Before the battle began she could see the faint silhouettes of the warehouses on the docks, but for the past few hours smoke had drifted in and blocked the view. Her daggers weighed heavily in their sheaths, Isabela wanting nothing more than to use them. She did give her word, and understood the importance of keeping their escape route safe, but she was not made for such tasks.

It did not help that she had no idea what was happening in the city proper. She could see the smoke and hear the explosions, but that was it. At all hours, there was a watch kept for any boats crossing the water, be they friend or foe. Isabela spent a few hours on watch herself, looking for anything to occupy her mind, but she ended up spending that entire time standing around bored, doing all the thinking she was trying to avoid. When Horker ran into the courtyard, fear in his eyes, she was almost looking forward to the bad news. "We got boats coming this way, not ours."

"Balls. Templars?" Isabela asked. It did not make sense, but she just knew it was true.

"I think they found our exit," Horker said.

Isabela jumped up from the step she sat on. "Get in one of those boats and get to Hawke right away. I don't care where he is or what the hell is going on, you find him and tell him what is going on." Horker did not look like he wanted to obey, but after a few moments he nodded. "Take Eliza with you. No one else, Eliza, and keep your bloody hands to yourself!"

The boats reached the docks minutes after Horker and Eliza left, three small ones each carrying four Templars armored light and carrying daggers, dirks and bows. Isabela had Hawke's guards and every capable fighter on her crew waiting at the docks for them. They stayed hidden as the Templars cautiously disembarked. Luckily, the narrow alleys made it easy for Isabela's men to stay out of battle was brief and went relatively well, with one dumbass, a newer crewmember named Donnel, the only casualty. The moron stood up when the Templars released a volley of arrows, and took one right in the side of the head.

That was as the Templars were retreating, half their numbers laying dead in a small courtyard just past the docks. As soon as they reached that courtyard, Isabela and the others ambushed them from every direction, a storm of blades and arrows that the Templars clearly did not expect. Isabela was responsible for five kills herself, easily slipping in and out amongst the fray, daggers finding hearts and throats before disappearing among the crowd again. When the Templars retreated, Isabela ordered her men after them, but two archers waiting with the boats kept them back. That, of course, was when Donnel stood up. Bloody moron.

It was not until afterwards that the seriousness of what just happened became clear to her. The chain was still in place, blocking access to Slaver's Bay. The only way the Templars could have gotten past it was either through the exit Isabela planned on using, or another entrance she had somehow never found. Either way, it was a huge, huge problem. "Who here volunteers to go back through the tunnel and make sure it is still safe?" she asked, wiseass grin on her face, when her crew was assembled before her on one of the piers at the docks. One would not think such an open area would make a good meeting place, but it wasn't like there was anyone to hear what they were discussing that should not. Besides, the gulls, wind, and water were especially loud that day, creating more than enough noise to keep anyone not within two or three feet from hearing Isabela anyway.

Not surprisingly, no one stepped forward to volunteer. They instead decided to share nervous glances. "Captain, we should probably assume The Siren's Call is captured or at the bottom of the ocean. We're safer here."

It was hard not to punch the bastard who said that in the face. Isabela settled for a withering glare that made everyone cower before her. "I will ask again. Any volunteers?" This time, reluctantly, two men stepped forward, Vince and Steffon. That was not enough, but at least it was something. Isabela had to admit surprise that anyone stepped forward. A pirate crew was never expected to be honorable enough to risk their necks this way. Isabela hoped this said something about her leadership. She tried her best to pay attention to how Hawke did things, after all. "No one else?" No one stepped forward.

And so, despite it being an awful, awful idea, Isabela ended up on a boat with Vince and Steffon, the two of them rowing towards the mouth of the tunnel that carved through the cliff. It was hard to tell if the tunnel was manmade or natural. The rough walls and the way the tunnel narrowed and widened suggested it was natural, but the path it took through the cliff, the twists and turns and the spot of the eventual exit, suggested otherwise. The tunnel was dark, the lantern Isabela held the only light. Water dripped down from above, the only sound coming when drops hit the boat or water. At its widest, there was enough room for three of the small boats Isabela was on, side by side, at its narrowest there was barely room for one. She kept her eyes open for any sign of recent use, but there was no way to tell if she was being honest. The possibility that an armada of Templar warships would be waiting for them on the open water had Isabela sweating. Why the hell am I here? Damn Hawke and his stupid leading by example shit he taught her.

The opening came upon them suddenly, after a wide turn. Isabela did not even realize she was holding her breath until she breathed in deep, laughing lowly when she realized there were no Templar ships in sight. That was good. That gave them time. When the mast of The Siren's Call came into view, she laughed much, much louder. Her crew did not call out to her, but did drop the ladder down to the boat as it approached. Lucas the Keg, the massive man she left in charge while she was in Kirkwall, greeted her with a typically bone crushing handshake. "Always a pleasure, captain. What can I do for ya?"

"Please tell me you haven't seen any Templars around," Isabela said, biting her bottom lip.

Kegbelly's frown made her day much worse. "Can't say that , captain. They didn't see us, but we saw them. Earlier today, came rowing round to the cliff of that cave."

Damn it, Isabela thought angrily. Damn it, damn it, damn it! "Move another two or three hundred yards east, there's a small cleft in the cliff the ship can hide in. If any Templar warships come your way, get the hell out of here, even without me. Understand?"

Kegbelly was one of the few truly loyal members of Isabela's crew, and she could see the hesitance in his eyes. "You sure, captain?"

"I am not losing another ship, even if that means I don't get to see it again. We will figure something out."

The reinforcements on the docks were visible far before Isabela's boat reached them. Their armor was recognizable from almost as far away. Horker and Eliza were standing with the guardsmen, talking and laughing, and it was them that Isabela asked, "Who do we have here?"

"Reinforcements, captain. The Champion insisted."

One of the guardsmen, a rather attractive brunette woman, stepped forward, offering her hand. "We are to assist in the defense of the Gallows."

"Well, I didn't think you were here to kill us, or we would not be talking right now." The guardsman did not laugh at the joke. Isabela rolled her eyes. "You been fighting in the battle? How's it going?"

"We are holding our own," the guardsman answered. "We still hold Lowtown, but the Templars have breached the gates. Their losses far outnumber ours."

Isabela grinned. She expected to hear that Hawke and his army were at the very least about to get trapped up in Hightown, if not already. She should have expected Hawke would still be in position to actually win the battle. "That's definitely good news. Come with me, let me catch you up."

Isabela actually managed to get some sleep that night. It was completely unintended, she was writing a story, something stupid about Varric in response to a stupid story he told about her, and when the knock came at her door she woke up, the candle at her having burned halfway. The knocking at her door was frantic, and she moved as quickly as she could manage in her sleepy state. Three of her crewmembers were outside the room, breathless. "They be back. A lot of them." Without hesitation, Isabela gathered her daggers and hurried out of the room.

The guardsmen Hawke sent over were waiting outside, along with most of Isabela's crew. The same guardsmen who Isabela talked to earlier, whose name she learned was Lanna, was the one who stepped forward again. "Nine boats, thirty-six men. What are your orders?"

Every single guardsmen was staring at Isabela, ceding complete authority to her. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Who here is good with a bow or a crossbow?" Eight of the guardsmen raised their hand. "Okay, you take up positions overlooking the piers. Wait until all of them get off the boats, and open fire. They will have to rush forward to take cover, and we'll ambush them in the first courtyard. It worked well the first time they came, and under arrow fire they won't have much choice but to rush into the courtyard again."

Isabela again found herself taking cover amongst the narrow pathways winding among the buildings of the Gallows. Six guardsmen were with her, along with two of her crew. Across the courtyard, she could see others, waiting for her signal. There was more nervousness this time. Not because of the larger number of Templars, but more because of the fact that she was completely responsible. Isabela did not like pressure and expectations. Typically that was what made her run. Maybe she would have if a bunch of Templar soldiers were not blocking off the one exit she had. As much as she liked to think she was a different person, moments like this were where she doubted it.

Shouts and screams told Isabela that the archers had opened fire. Heavy footsteps rang through the night, heavy plate and leather on stone. When the Templars reached the courtyard, they immediately turned around, the one that was apparently their commander barking out orders to form up. It was just too damn easy, and made her wonder if the ones that got away before had no idea what happened to them. Isabela nodded at the guardsmen and crewmembers, the signal to jump out. Only half or so of the Templars had entered the courtyard, but she wanted to get to them before they fully regrouped and had the common sense to watch their flanks. Raising a dagger in the air, she shouted, "For Kirkwall!" and rushed forward, the return shouts barely registering to her hearing.

The first victim of her daggers did not see her coming, crumpling the moment the steel pierced through his armor and into his spine. The next one managed to turn around, only to have a dagger slash across his neck. Others began to turn around, but Isabela's companions were now on them, hacking at the Templar press. Some of them turned to run, only to collide with the ones running into the courtyard. The effect was exactly as Isabela had hoped. Confusion spread quickly, with shouts both to fight and retreat. The Templars who did manage to leave the courtyard were quickly taken down by the archers. By the time their senses returned and they began to fight back in earnest, nearly half of them were dead, and momentum was clearly on Isabela and her men's side.

Isabela felt when the tide of battle began to shift, and tried even harder to kill every Templar she could, but it did not stop things from shifting away from her and her men. Eliza was the first of her crew she saw laying dead on the ground. Shortly after, she saw Horker. Patrik, Brence, Hardskull, all of them fell to Templar blades. Isabela only fought harder, not because she particularly cared about the dead but because of the insult. Still, things continued to shift away from them, and towards the Templars' favor. As much as she did not want to, she knew she had no choice. After ending yet another life with a dagger to the throat, she backed away from the melee, and shouted, "Fire!"

A storm of fireballs rained down on the crowd of Templars, none of them expecting the magical onslaught. Some of the guardsmen were caught in the field of fire, and quickly rushed away. Flesh began to cook, and Isabela could hear the screams as people burned. She could feel the heat against her skin, drawing beads of sweat from her pores. She only turned around to make sure no one was behind her, ready to kill her. When she saw that all of the Templars were caught in the trap, she immediately closed her eyes.

Some of the Templars managed to get away from the fire, only to be killed by the waiting archers. Not one managed to escape. As the bodies, many of them nothing but cooked meat inside heavy armor, were taken to be dropped in the water, Isabela summoned all of the guardsmen to meet with her right away. Since the docks would be the disposal site of the all the casualties in their battle, she decided to meet with them inside the Circle itself. She would need to check on the mages anyway, make sure everyone was alright. "You need to go back over to Lowtown and find Hawke right away," she said when everyone was assembled. "We can't close off the passage they are using, and we don't have the manpower to keep fighting them off."

The looks exchanged told Isabela she would not like what she was about to hear. "We cannot go back," Lanna said.

"Why the bloody hell not?"

"The Champion had barricades to stall the Templars in Lowtown. When your men came to request assistance, they were two hours maybe from breaking through those barricades. By now they are assuredly fighting on the stairs to Hightown, and any path to Serah Hawke will be blocked."

Isabela walked over to a nearby wall and had to fight the urge to punch it. Reason somehow prevailed over her frustration. "So we are stuck here, alone?" Lanna nodded. Isabela furrowed her brow as she thought the situation over. "Without anyone reporting back, the Templars will assume the men they sent are still fighting. They will be reluctant to send anyone else until they know for sure whether there is still fighting or not. That could be a couple of hours, if we're lucky three or four. We need to use that time to prepare. Think about what we can do to fortify ourselves, I'll be back in twenty or thirty minutes. I need to go check on the old people." She walked away, but turned around after a few steps. "Oh, and don't tell Hawke I had the mages fighting. He would have my head."

* * *

**Welp, Hawke has a time limit now. Templars won't wait forever before they come back through the passage in even greater numbers.**

**I looked and looked to try and find out whether the Gallows were separated from the rest of Kirkwall, and could find nothing, so I went by my memory and a rewatch of the end of the game, where Hawke and company used a boat to reach the Gallows. If it is connected by land, well considered it retconned for my story, lol. **


	12. Chapter 12

There was no denying the truth, as another sword clanged against his armor, deflecting harmlessly. Hawke was distracted. At a time when his every thought, all of his focus and energy, should be concentrated on the battle before him, worry over the Gallows was pervading, the territory it claimed within his mind growing with every passing minute. Mainly that was because with every passing minute, the possibility that the Templars now controlled the only possible exit out of Kirkwall grew. Deep within his subconscious, a reality was beginning to make itself known, one telling Hawke that he would need to win this battle. Somehow, he had to drive the Templars off. Another sword glanced the gauntlet on his left arm, and Hawke managed to raise his sword before the next blow landed, cutting the Templar down. A hand grabbed his armor at the collar and dragged him backwards, away from the mob of armor and blades dueling around them. When they had left the fight behind, Aveline twisted him around and delivered a hard slap. "Damn it, Hawke, get your head on straight!" she shouted.

The Templars had broken through the rubble barricades two hours ago, and the fighting on the stairs to Hightown had commenced nonstop since. There were no more obstacles to place in the Templars way, except bodies to fight them. The stairs had traps to slow them, paralysis glyphs and caltrops and choking powders. Posted along the stairway, with a perfect vantage point to fire down on the clog of Templars below, archers and crossbowmen were releasing their ammunition. Those who avoided the traps and arrows were immediately met with rows of soldiers. They still kept coming though, the numbers advantage they possessed allowing them to throw fresh troops at tired ones. Their progress could only be slowed, not stopped, and slowly but surely the Templars were pushing up the stairs. Down below, fires glowed bright in the early nighttime darkness, as the Templars set fire to homes, stalls, businesses, whatever they damn well felt like destroying. The only thing that kept Hawke from charging madly down the stairs was knowing he had evacuated Lowtown, and no one would die at the hands of Templar cruelty.

After her wakeup slap to Hawke's helmet, Aveline ran past him and rejoined the fight. Hawke took a moment to assess the situation. Possibly for the first time, he genuinely began to think of a strategy to win this battle. For all of his talk, his plan had never been to genuinely win, only do as much damage as possible and create an opening for his friends and the mages to escape with him. If the Gallows were taken though, that plan would no longer be an option. The stairs were a great defense option. In preparation for this fight, Hawke had read a dozen accounts of previous battles within the city, and eight of those battles had been decided right here, on the stairs leading up to Hightown. Kirkwall was not truly taken until Hightown fell, and the stairs were the only way to get there. No more than seven men could stand side by side, which allowed Hawke and his army to keep everything in front of them. They could bleed the Templars severely here, and were already doing so. It was possible they could do enough damage to win.

Hawke bellowed a war cry, loud enough to make even his own soldiers flinch and look at him. He raised his sword, the monstrous greatsword light in his hands, and ran forward. An animalistic grin, the hunter looking at his prey, spread across his face, and three of the Templars at the head of the crowd turned in fear. There was nowhere to run though, and Hawke took all there with one heaving cut of his sword. With impossible speed, he turned and slashed at two more. Templars began to cower backwards, and the soldiers next to and behind Hawke did not miss the opportunity to move up, pushing the Templar line backwards for the first time since they set foot on the stairs. Minutes passed before Hawke slowed down, the bodies piling at his feet. It was a blood rage unlike anything he ever experienced, focused on nothing but killing everyone in front of him. For a brief few moments, everyone was a blur, and he worried he was killing his own men. Blood drenched his sword and armor, an errant spray somehow getting through his visor and blinding him briefly. When it was over, and the muscles in his arms and shoulder began to scream under the weight of his sword, Hawke receded back into the crowd, leaving the battle.

After two more hours, the Templars had managed to push back, and were now halfway up the stairs. That progress had come at a heavy price, with hundreds of casualties. The dead had piled up along the stairs to the point that new troops had to pull their bodies away. Hundreds were unceremoniously thrown over the side of the stairs or tossed down them, including on Hawke's side. The anger was evident in the eyes of the soldiers, but they did as told when Hawke and Aveline told them to throw the bodies at the Templars, creating openings for attack. It was not fair, and Hawke felt the burden on his soul at the act, but it was war, a war they had to rely on tactics for, and it was a tactic available. When the Templars appeared willing to back off, to give up for the day, but the moment the soldiers not on the front line began to retreat, Hawke ordered his own forward, leading the charge himself. He knew his troops were tired. He knew they hated him. But he could not let the Templars regroup, could not let them refresh themselves and have time to think of a different approach. He had to keep them busy.

The moon stood high in the clear night sky, near halfway through its nightly ascent, when Hawke was pulled from battle again, this time by a combination of Donnic and Varric. He did not fight, mainly because he did not have the strength. His arms and shoulders screamed with pain, and a dull throb permeated up and down his spine. Blood ran down his arm and trickled through his fingers from a small wound above his elbow. His legs began to gave out as he was dragged, so Varric lifted his legs, the two men now carrying him. They did not stop until Hawke could no longer see the fight, only the press of soldiers that formed the back of the formation along the stairs. "It's time to go, Hawke," Varric said, none of his usual cheer in his voice, nor none of the usual light in his eyes. The only emotions the dwarf showed were fear and exhaustion.

"Aveline and the others are waiting for you near the lifts," Donnic said, sorrow written on every line of his face. A trickle of either sweat or blood ran from his brow down his nose. In the darkness, and as exhausted as he was, Hawke could not tell. "You must leave now, before the Templars push us back again."

A sudden energy coursed through Hawke, and he stood quickly. Too quickly, as dizziness overtook him and he nearly fell. When Varric grabbed his arm, Hawke yanked it away. "Are the both of you mad?! Why would we run?"

"Hawke, we cannot win. We must go now. It is time, we have proven our point."

"Our point was to win! We can still win!" Hawke argued, knowing his words rang false. Again, he thought about the possibility that the Gallows were under Templar control, that Isabela and the mages being kept there were dead. If he ran, and there was no escape, it would mean his death, and if he was going to die than he wanted to die taking as many Templars with him as he could. He was running from the truth, he knew that. So did Varric and Donnic. The pitiful looks they gave him told Hawke what an idiot he was being. He wanted to scream. He wanted to complain. He wanted to keep arguing. He wanted to run back into the fray before Varric and Donnic could stop him. "Maker forgive me. I hope this city can find it in themselves to do so as well."

Mages were already taking hesitant steps into the dwarves lifts when Hawke arrived, Bethany among them. She smiled anxiously when she saw him, a smile he returned. The lifts were huge, built to carry all manners of goods, and could support up to twenty people each. Hawke made sure to test their capabilities in previous days, and the worst that happened was fright from the guardsmen inside as the lifts squeaked and swung while they lowered and rose. There were five of the lifts, which allowed them to board ten per lift and be sure they would not overtax them. Hawke insisted on waiting until everyone else was aboard before doing the same, to be sure everyone else got away. Off in the direction of the stairs, the screams of the dying and the clashing of steel had grown faintly louder. Once the first four lifts were fully loaded, and the first two had begun their descent, Hawke and those not yet boarded did so. The soldiers operating the lifts were all young, and he could see a hint of the betrayal and fear they felt as he walked towards the lift. He could not leave that way. "This is your city," he told them. "Defend it, with all you have. That is all any of us can do."

The poor young men, they tried their best to be brave, but they knew what Hawke was doing. For a brief moment, he considered running back to the battle, his conscience and pride nearly overwhelming his common sense. Somehow, he turned his back instead, and set foot on the lift. With a jolt, it began to lower towards the docks. Hawke strained to see the Gallows, looking for any sign of life down there, any clue as to who controlled the former Circle. He was only able to look for about half the ride down before the Templars below noticed and began firing arrows up at them. The sides of the lift stood waist high to begin with, making them easy to crouch behind, and Hawke was forced to do that until the lift reached the ground, doubts and worries continuing to eat at his mind. He hoped Isabela was okay. He hoped the young and old mages being kept at the Gallows were okay. Most of all, he hoped his wife was okay.

* * *

This was not the first time Vivienne Hawke was forced to sit around, under heavy protection, waiting for someone she loved to return from war. The first time, she was eight years old. Her dad was part of a small force sent after a bandit group that terrorized the Wounded Coast for the better part of three years. That was back when Anton Freamin was still building his personal influence within Kirkwall, and seemingly always involved in some heroic effort through which he could improve his standing and reputation. Even at the age of eight, Vivienne was aware of the danger her father faced, though no one told her the specifics. Though she was sure her memory was colored by the years, it seemed that the day her father returned, his armor gleaming and a smile on his clean shaven face, was the day that the Freamins became the most influential noble house in Kirkwall.

The second time she waited for family to return from war was recent, and did not end nearly as happily. It was three years earlier, when the Qunari attacked, and would have won if not for her future husband. Vivienne's father had been one of a dozen or so noble families that was expecting the Qunari attack, and kept his family locked up safe for weeks beforehand. Unfortunately, he could not dissuade her brother, Daeron, from enlisting in a Chantry backed militia who claimed to have formed "in the event of the imminent Qunari aggression" but was really nothing more than a hate group picking fights with the outsiders. Vivienne's father had been as angry as she ever saw from him when he found out.

The wait was even worse the second time, mainly because the danger hit home. Father moved Mother, her other two brothers, and her to an estate outside the city, but that did not help the mood within the home. Mother spent two days crying, her brother spent the entire time complaining, and Father was never home. Vivienne did not cry, she refused to do so. She spent most her time trying to console Mother, and the rest of the time praying for Daeron. When the news came that the Qunari left after Garrett Hawke defeated the Arishok in single combat, they were moved back home, where Father told them there was no sign of Daeron. Days were spent finding and identifying the dead. Daeron was found on the fourth day, Father telling them he had died valiantly in combat. He refused to let them see him before the funeral, but Vivienne had managed to sneak over and get a glimpse of what happened to her brother. His skin was pale, his body bloated. Gashes covered his face, mutilating the features that had once been so similar to her father. She moved the cover over his body down to his shoulders, and immediately stopped there, running away with her hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

Waiting in the Gallows, while not as drawn out an experience as waiting for her father and brother to return from war, was proving to affect her much more. She did not talk to anyone unless she had no choice. Her mood swung violently back and forth between depression and anger. Isabela refused to inform her on the latest developments the few times Vivienne had reached out. Both nights, she cried herself to sleep, which consisted of a nightmare filled three hours of fretful twisting and turning on a horribly uncomfortable straw bed. Regret was not the source of her sleepless nights, which came somewhat as a surprise. In fact, she felt no regret about her decision to flee with her husband. Once she thought it over, and made her decision, she felt at peace. No, her worry was entirely about Garrett.

Despite no one telling her anything, it did not take a genius to figure out that the Templars had found the exit Isabela planned to use to get them out. There was no other reason for fighting at the Gallows. There had been no effort to hide the fact that there was fighting at the Gallows. Vivienne would not tell, but the mages made no effort to hide their participation in defending the Gallows. If the Templars found away into Slaver's Bay, they would be back, in greater and greater numbers until they were able to take this place. Garrett would have to break off from the battle and hurry here, if they were to have any chance of leaving. Vivienne wondered if her husband could truly leave. He may not have been born here, but Kirkwall was truly his home, and there was no place where he would be more appreciated, more respected and revered.

Not for the first time in her soon to be three days at the Gallows, Vivienne knelt at the foot of her bed and began to pray. She knew it was not exactly faithful of her, to only pray when someone she loved was in danger, but it was the only action left to her. She could not wield a sword out in the field. She was no strategist. There was no place for a woman raised to be a lord's wife on a battlefield. So she could do nothing but hope for the safe return of the one she loved, and praying was the best way she knew how.

Vivienne's prayers were interrupted by a sudden clamor to be heard outside her room. She rose hesitantly, worried about what was happening, but when she realized she was hearing cheers and laughter she hurried out of her room. A few moments passed before she realized the mages she was seeing were the ones that stayed behind to fight. She spotted Bethany, and jogged over to her. "Is Garrett well? Where is he?" she asked her sister-in-law.

"He is fine," Bethany answered, smiling wearily. "He is speaking with Isabela in the Knight-Commander's office."

Vivienne thanked Bethany and hurried off, too anxious to see her husband to worry if she had just been rude. She did not even bother to knock, harshly swinging open the door to the office that used to be Meredith's. Garrett, Isabela, and Aveline all looked up, startled at the suddenness of Vivienne's entrance, but they quickly relaxed again. Garrett smiled at her, a sight that filled her with joy and briefly distracted her from the terrible sight her husband made. "Hello, love," Garrett greeted. "I am sorry I did not come to see you immediately, I was going to as soon as our plan was decided."

Although she usually hesitated to show affection for her husband while he was on duty, Vivienne could not resist circling walking to her husband and embracing him. His armor was still on, and the sharp edges dug into her skin, but the pain was just a part of feeling him in the moment. "I understand. The battle comes first. I am more than capable of coming to you."

The door opened again, and Varric coughed. "Am I interrupting?"

"No," Vivienne said, reluctantly separating herself from Garrett. "I was leaving."

"Stay," Garret said, grabbing her hand. Even through the armored gauntlet covering his own hand, she swore she could feel his warmth. "You might as well hear the plan with everyone else."

"So you have one?" Varric said, a smartass as always.

Garret smirked. "I always have a plan."

* * *

**I did kind of rush through the battle on the stairs, but I think I made it clear what the fight was like. Approaching the end now.**


	13. Chapter 13

"So, what do you think?" Hawke asked, trying to appear confident through his grin but displaying his nervousness with his eyes.

Varric was the first to laugh, how could he not be? It was his reaction to damn near everything. "That is most certainly a plan," he said, still chuckling. "Oh, Hawke you are a crazy bastard. In the absence of a better idea, I guess I have no choice but to go with this. I'm certainly not staying here." Varric would rather drown than deal with that.

Aveline's mouth open and closed as she tried to think of a protest. "This is crazy!" she settled on. "None of us have ever operated that thing before, and now you expect someone to do so competently? We would be better off stuffing the boats full of archers and hoping we can deal with any resistance that way."

"That is what the other boats are for," Hawke said.

"It is still crazy," Aveline insisted.

"Brother," Bethany interjected. "I know you do not want us mages in harm, but the most capable of us should be at the head of the formation as well. We have nearly as much destructive power as this weapon of yours, and we are much more reliable."

Hawke's mood predictably darkened, and Varric knew to keep quiet and let the Hawke siblings have it out. "Absolutely not. The whole point of this is keeping you out of danger." After a pause, he added, "All of you."

"We want to fight for our freedom," Bethany argued, the Hawke intensity she did not believe she had clear in the hardness of her expression. "I doubt we would be able to get past anyone waiting for us without using me and the other mages."

"If you insist on using this damn cannon, then I insist you allow the mages in the lead boats," Aveline said.

Varric knew he had to add his voice. "I have to side with them, Hawke."

Even Vivienne agreed. "Love, you must allow them to fight."

Hawke turned his back to them, grumbling under his breath. Varric was surprised to see such opposition to allowing the mages to fight, even after seeing how well they performed while defending Kirkwall. Only four mages died in the fight, two through sheer stupidity. It was ridiculous to think they needed special protection, though he would not say exactly that to Hawke. When he finally turned back around, he said, "You are right. I must stop treating you this way, Sister. I will leave the selection of who takes position in the lead up to you. No more than ten, understand?"

Bethany smiled. "Understood."

"Good. Get to it. Isabela, I want you and your absolute best operating the boat with the cannon. You have the closest thing to experience with such a weapon after all. Everyone else from your crew will row."

"Of course, Hawke," Isabela said, an easy confidence about her that surprised Varric.

Hawke took a deep breath, the burden on his shoulders clearly threatening to overbear him. He was a sight for sore eyes, exhaustion evident in every movement. The way that man had handled this burden was amazing, but he was only human, and no man could last forever under such stress. If they did not do so themselves, Hawke would talk to both Vivienne and Bethany about forcing him to take a long rest once they were onboard Isabela's ship. "Alright. Remember, if you insist on wearing armor make it light, something you can swim in, leather would be best. We will meet at the docks in one hour."

The plan was simple, with one huge wrinkle. Rather than having a few boats evacuate small groups over a few hours, as was originally the plan, they would take every available boat and sail through the tunnel leading out of Slaver's Bay in one large armada numbering twenty strong. The boats the mages rode on would be positioned in the middle of the formation, protected by those surrounding them. Every boat would be guarded by whatever archers and crossbowmen were available, more on the boats surrounding the mages, hopefully able to draw any fire from any opposition. At the head of the formation would be Isabela and the crew she chose, with a Qunari cannon capable of ripping apart the Templar boats.

The cannon was one of many weapons seized in the aftermath of the Qunari's failed occupation, a weapon presumably salvaged from the dreadnought shipwrecked years earlier during its pursuit of Isabela's first Siren's Call. For years the cannon was kept in an armory and completely ignored, and it would have been forgotten if not for Hawke walking into that armory the morning after Meredith's death. He had been desperate, and immediately began training crews in its operation. The cannon was smaller than the ones typically used on battle fleets, and its ammo was unlike anything Hawke had ever seen. Inside piles of small canvas bags were six to eight metal balls, similar to cannonballs except for being smaller. When put inside and fired, the balls would rip out of the bag, delivering damage over a wide spread area by spreading out once they left the muzzle. It was unlike anything Hawke, or anyone else, had ever seen. The cannon would be more than capable of ripping any Templar boats met before the ocean to shreds.

Varric was glad to leave that office, and was the first to do so. He had no destination in mind as he walked, and he kept going until he reached a stand where a shop used to be located. If he remembered correctly, a rather scummy piece of shit had set up here years ago, scamming the refugees from Ferelden. Some of the Dwarven Merchant's Guild had their hand in that, and of course denied all responsibility when the guy finally got what was coming to him. That had been years ago, yet another memory of the city Varric had been born in, and always called home. Now he was leaving. The choice was made, whether he liked it or not. He had to leave his home.

In his drunkest, most regretful moments, Varric sometimes found himself regretting helping Hawke all those years ago. There was no way he could attribute everything that happened only to Hawke, Meredith and her tyranny would have caused things to go downhill anyway, but without Hawke they never find that lyrium idol. Without Hawke they probably don't find an entrance to the Deep Roads in time to actually make the trip. Bertrand would still be alive and secretly hating Varric, Varric would be allowed to continue goofing around while his older brother did all the work. Isabela would have been caught and killed by the Qunari far earlier. Anders would never have had the chance to blow up the Chantry. Things would be different, and Varric would not have to leave.

Such thoughts did not take long to disappear once Varric was sober. Without Hawke, Bertrand would have found some other entrance to the Deep Roads, where Varric would have died at the hands of darkspawn. The Qunari would have attacked anyway. Even if Kirkwall somehow managed to defeat them, Meredith would have caused the Circle to rebel at some point anyway. The only difference Hawke made was cause the best outcome to come true. Maybe it would be fun, going somewhere new. No one would know who he is. The burdens of House Tethras would no longer be his. He already made arrangements to keep his spy network with Kirkwall intact. He could expand it to other cities. One day he might have cities everywhere in the Free Marches spending their gold to learn secrets from him. The prospect brought a smile to his face.

Varric still had not moved when the shouts came. Knowing they meant nothing but bad news, he reluctantly began following them to the source. It did not come as a surprise that Hawke was already at the docks, face pale as two of Isabela's pirates talked to him. Varric approached quietly. "What do we do, Champion?" one of the guardsmen asked, fright in his tone.

Hawke did not answer, instead staring off across the water, back towards the city. Varric was not sure why he had yet to do so. Over at the harbor, he could see dozens, maybe a hundred Templars, all trying to find boats to cross over. Twenty had already taken a seat inside three boats, ready to cross. "What is happening over here?" Aveline said, storming over. Her face turned pale as well when she saw. "Maker save us. Can we depart now?"

Hawke did not answer, his focus completely on the force mobilizing across the water. Varric knew what he was thinking. The city had fallen, and the men Hawke left behind were dead or captured. It was not fair or wise for Hawke to feel that guilt right now, but now was not time for comfort. "We are ready," Isabela said, stepping up onto the dock from one of the boats. Varric saw the Qunari cannon in place, the bags of small metal balls used as ammunition next to it. Varric had attempted to hold one of those bags in his arms before, and knew how incredibly heavy they were, and one only needed to look at the cannon to know it weighed a ton. While the boat the cannon and ammunition were on a bigger boat than the others, it was still hard to fathom how it could bear the weight of a crew and that weapon. Hawke insisted that it could as he told his plan though, promising that he had tested the weapon with a full crew to be sure. "If we're leaving, let's do it now."

Having the decision made without him seemed to snap Hawke out of his trance. "Yes, we move right away."

Varric ended up on the boat Vivienne road on, along with seven mages and one other crossbowmen, who introduced himself as Harrison. "I've heard much about you, Messere. That is a beautiful crossbow, every bit as much as I heard."

"Bianca is much more than beautiful," Varric said with a grin. "She is quite wicked as well. Hope your weapon there can match up."

Harrison stared back, mouth agape. Yet another person who could not understand humor, it seemed. The ten men rowing dipped their oars, and began their rhythm, starting slow and steadily gaining speed. Almost as if the Maker himself was trying to screw them over, a fog began to roll in from the ocean, slipping past the chain like a ghost and making it harder to see. Varric heard Isabela shout for everyone to keep close, followed by Hawke repeating the order. If anyone other than Isabela was in that lead boat, Varric would have felt a lot more nervous, but he was surprised to find he was quite calm. He could no longer see all of the other boats, but they stuck close to the ones he could see, and by the time Isabela called everyone to a halt, the fog had cleared and he could see the mouth of the tunnel they were going to use. Isabela shouted the order to form a single file line, which took a little more than half of an hour.

Varric initially wondered why Isabela would have them go single file, since the tunnel was wide enough to fit three of the bigger boats, and five of the smaller ones side by side. Water dripped from the roof, the moisture within the cave oppressive, weighing down on him. When the cave started to narrow, Varric could see why they were single file. Isabela was in the largest boat, and at the narrowest point Varric could hear the faint scrape of wood as it just managed to squeeze past. They all followed one by one, following the twists and turns of the tunnel, until finally daylight shone through an opening ahead. For a brief moment, Varric allowed himself to consider the possibility of them getting to Isabela's ship without incident. Then he heard Isabela's cry of, "Ship!"

The boat Varric was in had not yet left the cave as Isabela shouted her orders. When it did, he immediately looked over to the right, in the direction Isabela was pointing. A Templar galley, hull a faded silver with a figurehead in the likeness of Andraste, floated in the distance, slowly turning to face them. They could outrun that. They could not outrun the other, smaller ships coming their way, the closest of which was a mere hundred yards distant and closing fast. Shouts of "Row! Row! Row!" carried over the water and reached Varric's ears. To his left, the Siren's Call was also a hundred yards away and closing, and the first of the ships carrying the mages was fifty yards from the pirate ship, preparing to board.

Hawke was standing in his boat, bellowing at every ship that passed to hurry to the Siren's Call. A sudden impulse struck Varric, and when his boat drew close enough he jumped towards Hawke's, not realizing until he was about halfway that whether he would land in it or the water was about a fifty-fifty prospect. Luckily, Hawke was there to pull him up when Varric landed just short, clinging to the side of the boat and kicking his legs uselessly. "What in the Maker's name do you think you are doing?!" Hawke asked angrily.

"We need to hold those Templars off. You'll need me."

Hawke shook his head, furious. "I would have preferred you keep my wife and sister safe."

Varric shrugged, pulling Bianca out and placing an arrow. "Oh well, what's done is done. Deal with it, Hawke." Their conversation was interrupted by a deafening boom that made Varric jump, his eyes darting around to find the source. He looked just in time to see the metal balls shot from the cannon rip into the nearest Templar boat, practically ripping the thing in half and doing the same to three of the Templars onboard. Varric was not one to be awed by the power of anything, but that thing frightened him. He had never seen anything like it. "I'm glad that thing is on our side," he settled on as a lighthearted comment.

"That's why it was more important to stay with Vivienne and Bethany," Hawke said, no longer angry, but rather annoyed. "You are a right bastard, Varric."

"I will only let that go because of the fucked up situation we're in," Varric said with a grin.

As devastating as the cannon proved to be, it could not be loaded and fired fast enough to stop every Templar boat from coming close. Varric began firing, his quiver of bolts depleting fast as he went, and the others joined him shortly. The Templars were foolishly wearing their typical heavy armor, which sunk those that fell in the water either trying to avoid arrows or were knocked in after being struck. Behind Varric, he could hear the oars of the boats moving as quickly as they could towards the Siren's Call. When the steady splash of oars finally began to fade, Hawke looked behind them. "Its time to go!" he shouted in Isabela's direction.

Another shot fired from the cannon, catching the bow of two boats spaced too closely to each other and sinking them. "Towards the Siren's Call!" Isabela ordered. "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" Varric and the other archers continued to fire as the boats turned towards the ship, not as easy a shot as before because of the movement. Off in the distance, another Templar galley appeared, joining the second. Both were facing towards the Siren's Call now, rapidly gaining on them. The oarsmen in their boats continued to splash at the water as quickly as they could, while Isabela's men used the cannon to ward off pursuit and Varric and the archers did the same. When they drew close, they immediately scampering up the wooden ladders sent down for them to climb. Isabela's boat, being the largest and heaviest, was the last to reach the ship, and she ordered her men to continue firing at the smaller Templar boats before climbing up a ladder to the deck. "Is everyone onboard?" she asked.

"Almost, Captain," a huge man answered, standing near a row of the larger cannons Isabela had mounted on the Siren's Call. Much of the crew were stationed at every single one onboard the ship, some of them still being loaded with cannonballs.

Varric watched as Isabela hurried around the deck, then below. The ship began to turn, slowly but surely, and the last man on the boat with the cannon set fire to the vessel before hurrying onto the ladder. "Why the hell did they do that?" Hawke asked angrily.

"We don't have time to hoist it up here," Varric said, knowing right away why. "Better to leave it at the bottom of the ocean than leave it for the Templars."

Hawke nodded, realizing Varric was right, and then hurried below deck. The sails of the Siren's Call were hoisted, the oarsmen dipping their oars furiously at the same time to try and put some distance between them and the fast approaching Templar galleys. "We're not gonna outrun both of the, Captain!" the large man shouted again.

"No shit, Kegbelly!" Isabela shouted back. The wind picked up, and despite not being the religious type, Varric found himself wanting to thank the Maker. The sails picked up the wind, flapping forward and taking the ship with them. "We'll try and lose at least one of them before we engage. Make sure your axes and swords are sharp, men, there's killing to be done!"

Thankfully, they did manage to lose one of the ships, but the other caught up to them eventually. Hawke was back on deck, along with Aveline. He had a smile on his face as he strode over to Varric, happy to report that everyone had made it onboard safe. Even Aveline smiled, a rare sight, when her husband followed her on deck, holding his side. His midsection was wrapped in bandages. When Aveline returned from a quick conversation, ending with Donnic kissing his wife on the forehead and returning below deck, Varric could not resist. "Aww, that was cute, Ser."

"Not another word, you midget bastard," Aveline said, no malice in her voice.

"No, I agree," Hawke said. "It is nice to see you all lovey-dovey."

"In case the three of you forgot, there's still a Templar ship on our asses," Isabela said. "Save the jokes for later, I'll join you. Until then, stay low." Varric watched as his pirate friend hurried back to the helm, where she had a man steering the ship skillfully. The Templar galley continued to gain ground, and escaping clearly was no longer an option. Each ship fired a volley, just missing. Varric could only watch, despite his height still staying as low as he could as the two exchanged cannon fire. The first time the Siren's Call was hit, three shots tearing into the stern with a splintering crash, he nearly pissed himself. "This is not fun, Hawke!" he shouted.

"Just relax, Isabela knows what she's doing!" he answered.

After what felt like an eternity, the two ships finally drew close, boarding ramps immediately thrown from the Templar ship to the Siren's Call. Varric began firing what crossbow bolts he had left while Isabela joined Hawke and Aveline at starboard, ready to fight the invaders. "You'll have this ship over my cold, dead body!" she shouted, a viciousness in her voice and movements that Varric had never seen from her before. The first of the Templars to cross died brutally from her daggers.

Varric ran out of ammunition early in the battle, and was forced to take up an axe and join the melee. It was far from his strong suit, and he fought that way, staying at the fringes as much as possible and taking what kill opportunities presented themselves. The Templars fought valiantly, taking much of the crew with them before dying. Kegbelly fell from an axe strike that nearly cut through his substantially thick neck. Three others took blades in their backs. Lanna, the lead of the guardsmen Hawke sent over to help Isabela protect the Gallows, was one of ten that died. Every casualty only seemed to make Isabela, Aveline, and Hawke fight harder. The dead piled up at their feet, backing up onto the ramps the Templars used to board the ship. Varric suffered a sword wound to the arm, but his attacker was cut down by Hawke before he could deliver a killing blow.

The battle finally ended when Hawke and Isabela led the others over onto the Templar ship, where they proceeded to finish off the rest of the Templars and gather the crew. They were tied up on deck, pleading mercy the entire time. "Your Templar friends will be along shortly. If they want to free you, they can," Isabela said, her already frightening demeanor intensified by the blood covering her weapons and clothes. "Tell them that if they follow, they'll meet the same fate as these fuckers." She snapped her fingers, and her crew dropped the bodies they carrying at the feet of the entangled crew, causing them to gasp and some to weep. Isabela led the way back over to the Siren's Call, and it was there that Varric's strength finally failed him. His every step down below deck was a battle all its own, and once his wounded arm was bandaged, he found a cot and collapsed, succumbing to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Garrett Hawke had never slept so well on a boat. Something about them, no matter how big or how comfortable the bed he was given, had always disturbed him, made his stomach queasy as the boat rocked with the waves. It was usually a given that at some point, he was going to vomit over the edge and into the water below, and thankfully he got that out of the way the previous night. Still, he expected to spend all night tossing and turning, because that was the only experience he had when sleeping aboard any boat or ship or anything on the water. Instead, he closed his eyes, and woke up the next morning to the sound of polite knocking on the cabin door and an arm draped over him. He stood, pulled a pair of breeches over his smallclothes, and told whoever was outside that he would join them on deck soon.

Vivienne woke as he was searching through his hastily packed luggage for a shirt to wear, moaning sleepily as she sat up. Hawk couldn't resist giving her a deep kiss, which she returned eagerly. Even onboard a ship, she had decided to sleep naked, and Hawke drunk in the sight of his wife's curves. "You saucy minx," he whispered into her ear. "I might just have to stay and ravage you."

The snort from Vivienne lowered Hawke's sex drive rather quickly. "And by ravage you mean grunt a few times and leave me unsatisfied?" That finished off whatever sex drive Hawke had left. "I am sure you are needed up on deck, love. Tonight, you can ravage me any which way you desire."

"What would be the point?" Hawke asked. "You just made it rather clear you don't enjoy me. Maybe I will find a whore that will brag about bedding the Champion of Kirkwall, so I can feel better about myself."

Vivienne laughed, pressing her front into Hawke's back. "If I did not enjoy your attention, you would know." Her hand stroked up and down his chest and stomach, leaving a trail of tingles. She just as quickly moved away again. "Come on, love, time to go to work." Hawke groaned and pulled his boots on.

A steady breeze met Hawke when he opened the heavy wooden door that led onto the deck. He was wondering why he could hear the oarsmen below decks, but the heavy wind going against sail made it obvious why. Isabela was enjoying an orange while she talked with a few members of her crew, peeling away the skin with a knife and slicing out the wedges. She swallowed the bite in her mouth when she saw Hawke approaching, and greeted him by shouting, "Here he is! The Champion of Kirkwall, bane of both Qunari and Templars, and the best damn soldier Thedas ever saw! Here, here!"

Even at such an early morning hour, Hawke could swear Isabela was drunk, or at least buzzed. He wondered if she had ever gone to sleep. "Can I talk to you in private?" he asked her quietly, showing as much respect as he could manage.

Isabela blushed and giggled. "Now, Hawke, not that I have a problem with fucking married men, but I have too much respect for Vivienne to do it while she's onboard."

Hawke gently grabbed Isabela's arm and pulled her over to an unoccupied corner of the deck, at the bow. "Are you kidding me? You're drunk? Have you been awake all night?" Isabela rolled her eyes and began to walk away, but he grabbed her again, and again made sure not to do so too roughly. The last thing he needed was to set off his friend's temper. "We are not out of the clear yet. I understand wanting to celebrate what we have accomplished so far, but now is not the time. If you pass out for eight hours and we run across Templar warships, you will wake up to a boot to the stomach, if you wake up at all. None of us are near as qualified as you are to lead your crew into battle."

Isabela rolled her eyes again, which Hawke knew was a good thing. It meant she was not upset with what he said. "Maybe you have a point. Ugh, is this ever going to end?"

"For you. You will go back to being a pirate, that is normal. For the rest of us, no, we will probably never go back to normal, because normal for us is the place we just left." Isabela shrugged at that, and wobbled slightly when the ship hit a wave. "How about you go pass out in your cabin, that way you will at least have some sleep if we need you later? The Champion commands it!"

"Fine, fine," Isabela said. "Sleep actually sounds nice," she muttered as she walked off.

Hawke remained at the bow, staring off ahead at the seemingly endless ocean thinking of what exactly he should do once they reached their destination. To this point, he had been so focused on surviving that little thought had gone into what to do afterwards. The wind gusted, blasting Hawke's face and making him close his eyes. When he opened them again, he was startled at seeing someone standing next to him. "Maker's breath, Merrill, how do you do that?"

"Do what?" she asked, confused.

"Sneak up on me. I swear he don't walk, you float. There is no other explanation for how quiet you are."

Merrill shrugged, taking what he said far too seriously, as usual. "I don't wear shoes, that is probably the biggest reason. I don't weigh much, and I take soft, careful steps. All Dalish are raised to be quiet, as to not disturb the nature around us. I lived in Kirkwall a long time, but I guess those habits never left me."

"Ugh, do you have to answer everything so truthfully?" Hawke asked, a grin making it clear he was not actually angry. She giggled, and the two of them stood there, watching the water below. "I suppose its too much to hope that we are safe now."

"We won't ever be completely safe again, not while the Templars are still around," Merrill said, sadly. Her gaze wandered off, and Hawke could see the contemplation in her eyes. It was a look he knew well, and seen often in the time they had known each other. Merrill may come across as an empty headed person, but that was only because she never stopped thinking. Always, all the time, her mind was preoccupied, jumping from one thought to the next. Once that had been frustrating, but now it was an endearing trait about someone he cared for. "I guess I shouldn't complain," Merrill continued. "Now we can live like the Dalish. Living amongst the trees, always on the move, nights around the fire enjoying each other's company. It could be great! I've always wondered what you would be like if you were Dalish. This would be close."

Hawke had to chuckle at that. "I might go along with that, but I would be the only one. Varric would never do that. Vivienne might not either. Isabela will stay with her ship. Bethany has spent most of her life on the run, and always hated it." A pang of guilt stabbed through Hawke's heart. He worked so hard to give his sister a normal life, and here they were, right back where they started, on the run from Templars. "Maker, so many years, and Bethany and I are right back where we started. She probably hates me right now."

Merrill stared at him with complete incomprehension in her eyes. "Why would Bethany hate you? Its not your fault."

"I killed Meredith. I'm the one who insisted on getting involved in everything, trying to help mages escaping the Circle. I'm the one who distracted the Grand Cleric so that bastard Anders could cast that spell that destroyed the Chantry and killed her. All my sister ever wanted was a normal life, and she will never have one now. Why would she not hate me?"

"You are her brother. She loves you," Merrill said, as if there was no question about it. "Maybe you should talk to her."

Of course he should, but Hawke did not want to do so now. He would wait until they reached their destination, and talk to everyone. "I will, eventually."

Dark clouds formed to the south during the early morning, and by the afternoon the first rumbles of thunder boomed through the sky. The wind kicked up violently, swirling east, south, east again, too volatile to use the sails. Isabela told them to expect storms this time of year, but Hawke had foolishly hoped they would miss them somehow. His stomach began to roil as the waves picked up, lifting the boat and dropping it back on the water, sending sprays of water onto the deck. Isabela hurried on deck as the first drops of rain began to fall, sobered up quite nicely by the look of things. She immediately began shouting commands, taking the place of the crewmember she left in charge, and Hawke hurried under deck. The commotion around the ship made him dizzy, and he stumbled into the door of his cabin when a wave hit the starboard side of the ship.

Vivienne opened the door, a panicked look on her face. "Maker, Garrett, are you alright?" she asked.

Hawke could feel the blood draining from his face. "Not really." Another wave sent the ship lurching, and Hawke almost fell again, two pairs of arms catching him. He had not even noticed that Bethany was in the cabin as well. "Hi, sister," he said, before hurrying over to a chamber pot to empty the contents of his stomach.

The storm raged on for three hours, sending the floor beneath Hawke up and down, the walls left and right. Thunder boomed above, making the entire ship shake. After the first hour, when there was nothing left for Hawke to dispel from his stomach, he began to calm down. The violent waters around the ship stopped making him feel queasy, the whistling winds and booming thunder faded away, and he was finally able to calm down. Bethany handed him a cup of wine, which he drank eagerly. "That should help numb you, at least," she said. "The mighty Champion of Kirkwall, reduced to a mess by a little thunderstorm."

"Oh, piss off," Hawke said, setting the empty cup down.

"Or what?" Bethany teased. "Are you going to throw up on me?"

"Now, now, Bethany, that's not nice," Vivienne pretended to scold her. "We should be more supportive of our poor little man."

The two women giggled at Hawke's expense. "You can piss off too," he said, a grin of his own on his face. While the storm raged, the three of them shared stories of their two days onboard the Siren's Call, which despite the short amount of time they had been on the ship managed to last the entire time, easily. Bethany and Vivienne both had tales of the lecherous looks they received from Isabela's crew, which immediately pissed Hawke off, and of comments they made, which nearly sent Hawke running up deck to beat the hell out of those men. They talked of the creatures seen at seas, fish large and small, and birds swooping down to catch them. Vivienne told them about a group of Dalish she saw moving through the forest along the coast, the hunters dashing ahead of the halla pulling the aravel. The enthusiasm with which she spoke of what she saw convinced Hawke to discuss what he and Merrill had talked about earlier that day. "We need to talk about what we are going to do after reaching Isabela's hideout," he said.

"I assumed we would keep moving," Bethany said. "Do you have a destination in mind?"

"Well, Merrill and I were talking, and she suggested we stick to the forests. She is Dalish, so she has a wealth of knowledge of the forests of Thedas, and where would be safe to hide. Since we are not near so large a number as a Dalish clan, I think we can disappear easily that way."

Vivienne and Bethany exchanged a look, nodding and shrugging. "That sounds like a solid plan," Vivienne said. "It would keep us safe while we wait for things to calm. I believe Merrill to be capable. Why do you appear so hesitant to speak of this, love?"

"Well, for one, I know this will split us all up. Isabela will not leave her ship. Varric will not live in the woods. Aveline and Donnic may, but would not want to. I know you do not want to, love. But my biggest reason for my hesitance is you, Sister. Knowing that we are right back where we started seven years ago, on the run, no home, no money, trying so hard not to get caught by Templars, it's fucking awful. I worked so hard, we both worked so hard, to avoid the exact situation we find ourselves in now. If we go with Merrill, which I admit is our best option, it will be a hard life of constant moving to avoid Templars. And this time, it will not end."

Bethany bowed her heads, her shoulders slumping as well. Vivienne placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. The atmosphere in the room, so light and easygoing moments ago, was replaced by what Hawke thought was a hatred emanating from his sister. "What other option do I have, Garrett?" Bethany asked, voice choked by barely held back sobs. She looked up at him, desperate tears in her eyes that she refused to let fall. "I knew all of this the moment the Chantry was destroyed and the line was drawn. So tell me, what other option do I have?"

Hawke's mouth was agape, with no response he could think of. "I…"

"You, of all people, should know why I _hated_ running for all those years. Yes, I wanted to be normal. Yes, I hated having to run. But the reason I hated it most was because I was a burden. We ran because of _me_, because of _my_ magic. Without me, you and Mother and Carver could have lived a normal life in Lothering, and when the darkspawn invaded you would never have had to worry about me when you reached Kirkwall. That is why I hated running so much. I felt so alone, because everyone tried so hard to keep me safe, at your own expense. This time, we are in it together. They do not want me, they want us all. I can handle that."

Hawke grinned uneasily, not knowing how else to react. He never thought about it that way, never knew just how much of his sister's depression in those days was because she thought she was a burden. He wanted to convince her otherwise, tell her that it had always been worth it, they had always been together. Bethany would not believe such a gesture, not now. He would have to make sure to tell her later though. "How about you, love? Can you handle a life on the run?"

Vivienne scoffed at him. "We have already been through this, Garrett."

"That we have," he laughed. "Well, good. Glad we cleared that up." Unable to resist, he stood and brought his sister into a hug, reaching one hand out for his wife as well. Vivienne stood and joined the hug.

An hour passed after the storm before the ship stopped, and Isabela came down below deck. "Everybody off, we're here," she shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear. Hawke was one of the first off. They were inside a massive cave inside of a cliff, the only light coming from torches in sconces placed on the rock walls. He stepped from the ramp onto the weathered wooden dock, a loud squeak accompanying every step. Those already off the ship were being directed towards a ladder ahead, which led up and through the ceiling above. Hawke climbed, wondering how exactly this place had been built, for about three minutes. There was plenty of room for a person to climb the ladder, and the rock around him was nearly smooth. When he finally reached the top, he found himself inside of an old ruin, with walls made of marble. Despite some areas chipped away with age, and grass growing through the floor after so many years, it was a stunningly beautiful sight, the sunlight reflecting off the white marble and giving it the appearance of an ethereal glow.

He quickly found Isabela, who was in a storeroom talking with some men he did not recognize from the ship. Barrels of salted meats and sacks of corn and barley stood against the wall, enough for months. "What is this place?" Hawke asked the pirate captain.

"I cannot rightly say, other than its mine now," Isabela answered with a shrug. "I thought it was Tevinter when I found it, but I'm not sure. Beautiful , huh? Wait until you see the fountain."

Hawke and the rest of his companions were given rooms in one of the few places where the roof was still intact, devoid of anything but beds to sleep on. The beds were not very comfortable, but they were better than sleeping on the ground in some awful bedroll. Once everyone was settled, Hawke was called a meeting to tell those who did not know of his decision. They had just assembled when one of Isabela's crewmembers came running into the courtyard they occupied. Hawke knew what was happening right away. "Templars?" The pirate nodded. "One more time, my friends. We have Templars to kill, one more time."

* * *

**I'm thinking there will be about 3 or 4 more chapters. I hope everyone has enjoyed so far, and thank you to those who have read, favorited and/or reviewed.**


	15. Chapter 15

Aveline found herself grateful to the Templars for showing up when they did. The conversation Hawke was about to start was one she did not feel ready to have. It was not often that Aveline Vallen found herself scared of facing the future, but she was completely frightened now. To this point, she had been able to avoid thinking of what she would do once they had escaped Kirkwall. There was no time, she had to train the army, train herself, assign patrols, keep stock of weapons, ammunition, and supplies. When the day was over, she ate and slept. When the Templars finally began their siege, her days and nights were filled with war. It was not until they were all onboard The Siren's Call that Aveline was left with nothing to do but think, and there was no avoiding thinking about what she would do once they had escaped the Templars, if they escaped them.

The more she thought, the more it frightened her that she had no idea what to do. Her first instinct was to do what she did after fleeing Ferelden with the Hawke family and coming to Kirkwall, which was join the city guard or the military somewhere else. Both her and Donnic were battle-hardened, and could quickly prove themselves capable of respectable posts somewhere else in Thedas. She was thinking Rivain, until she realized they were likely to know exactly who she was and would refuse her if they did. Her other thought was a return to Ferelden. King Alistair Theirin had proven himself a sympathizer of the plight of mages, and would show leniency towards those fleeing the Chantry. Accepting refugees such as herself and Donnic would be something a little more than supporting mages, however, and his advisors would almost certainly pressure him not to let them in the country. Aveline did not know anywhere near enough about the Ferelden king to have confidence her homeland was a safe retreat. Tevinter was not an option. Everywhere else had too large a Templar influence.

Naturally, she was given a place at the front lines, at the bottom of a large hill a half-mile from the coast, which led up to the ruins Isabela used as a hideout. No longer having her guardsmen at her side discomforted Aveline more than she thought it would. Donnic was there, as always, a look a of intense concentration and impossible calm on his face. Otherwise, everyone at her side was a stranger. The few guardsmen that came with them were all posted at the top of the hill, providing long range support. The rest of their forces consisted of Isabela's pirates, an unsavory bunch of poorly armed and armored fools. Many wore no armor outside of a helmet or worn boiled leather, and the dirks and axes they wielded were chipped, the edges dull from age and use. They had no discipline, the formation Aveline and Isabela initially ordered them into dissipating into loose circles of men and women trading jests, taunts and challenges. Every time Aveline barked at them to get back into formation, they would do so only briefly before their lack of discipline and training made them return to their loose circles.

Hawke, Varric, and ten of Isabela's men came running into view, quickly coming their way. Of course, Hawke had insisted on leading the advance party assigned to harass the Templars as they disembarked from their ship and headed towards the ruins. Aveline was glad to see that no one appeared to even be wounded, let alone killed. Hawke quickly spotted Aveline and hurried her way, while the others headed to the top of the hill. "We counted one hundred and forty-five." With a smirk he added, "One hundred and twenty-nine are still coming this way."

The number was big, but not unmanageable. The were facing a disadvantage of about fifty men, which the best of them would have to make up for. That included herself. "Good job, Hawke." He nodded and made to join the rest of the troops waiting at the top of the hill. Despite his initial insistence that he be on the front lines, Aveline and the others convinced Hawke that he could do the most damage as part of the reserve forces. He was reluctant, but he listened. The Templars arrived twenty minutes later, marching in step with each other, five rows of twenty lined one behind another. A formation of twenty-nine cavalry, their horses bearing tapestry with the symbol of the Templar order stitched into it, lined up to the west, the animals snorting and neighing in anticipation of the coming fight. Aveline heard the gasps from the pirates around her, and was again reminded that these were no soldiers, and they were no army. How were they to deal with the cavalry? She looked behind her, up at the top of the hill. Hawke was talking with Isabela, who nodded and ran off. When he noticed Aveline staring, he gave her a thumbs up, which she found stupidly reassuring.

While the Templar general, or captain, or whatever he was, rode his horse back and forth across the frontline of his troops, speaking generic words of duty and honor and traitors, no such speech was given to Aveline and the rest. No such speech was necessary. They all knew the stakes, had known them the moment the Chantry was destroyed and the choices were made. In Aveline's mind, the choice was made long before that, back in those terrible days when the darkspawn killed King Cailan, and she first met Garrett Hawke. She had never been one to believe in fate, in the idea that one's destiny was determined ahead of time, yet how else could she explain everything that happened since that day? Hawke was a man destined to shake the world. In that moment, she remembered Flemeth's words, back when she helped them escape the darkspawn. "Hurtled into the chaos, you fight…and the world will shake before you." Such words could not have described Hawke any better. Here and now, the world was on the precipice of war and chaos unlike any it had seen in centuries, all because of that man. Yet Aveline felt comfortable, safe. She was there every step of the way, and knew that Hawke was a good man, doing what was right. If chaos was the price to pay for standing by Hawke as he did the right thing, then she would gladly pay it, knowing she was on the right side.

The cavalry were the first to come, a foolish maneuver born of arrogance and disrespect. Aveline ordered the men around her into formation, hoping they could show some discipline now that the battle started. "Go for the legs of the horses! Focus on unseating them above all else!" The beating of hooves was thunderous, kicking up dust and mud, and Aveline heard a few pirates behind her retreat. Swords and spears crashed down upon them violently, and Aveline tried to ignore the sounds of the dying around her. She took every opportunity to slash at the horses, which were few and far between, and any Templars that fell from their horses were immediately pounced upon and killed. When the first charge was over, Aveline was glad to see that eight Templars were dead, and only seven of the pirates. There was no time to celebrate. The remaining cavalry circled back, charging even faster, a bloodcurdling wary cry on their lips.

She saw Donnic fall in the third cavalry charge. After suffering another seven casualties, and only inflicting six on Aveline and her soldiers, the Templar general finally ordered his knights on foot forward. Aveline had just cut down one man, and was exchanging blows with another when she saw the blade, out of the corner of her eye. Even knowing it was a bad idea while it was happening, she turned her attention from the Templar she was fighting, just as a spear caught her husband in the shoulder. Donnic fell to a knee, and a sword slashed a weak spot near his hip and sent him face first into the dirt. Aveline did not hear herself screaming his name, and did not see the sword that bit into her side. Her vision became blurry as she fell, the blood on her gauntleted fingers the only thing she could recognize. The sword exited her, a stinging, horrible pain replacing the steel. The last thing she remembered before blacking out was the sight of her husband laying face first on the ground, and the low rumble of boots running on the ground.

* * *

Bethany screamed with every spell she flung at the Templar bastards before her. A rage ran through her blood, spread to the very edges of her body. It gave her a frightening strength she had never known. Her staff was feather light, flying in her hands while she cast her spells, the fatigue she normally felt by this point nonexistent. When a frozen Templar shattered, she smiled viciously. The screams of a group of Templars set aflame nearly made her cackle. When a Templar managed to avoid a volley of arrows that took down the friends around him, Bethany personally hunted that man down and killed him. This brutal, violent, obsessive rage coursing through her veins was unlike anything she had ever felt, and gave her a power that was not her own. It was the first time in her life that she ever felt truly scared of the magic she wielded. When Merrill grabbed her by the shoulders, shouting her name, she finally snapped out of it, her eyes widening at the realization of what she had done. "Bethany, please, snap out of it," the elf pleaded, "Ma falon, calm yourself!"

Tears formed in Bethany's eyes. "Aveline…" she began.

Merrill bowed her head, trying to hide the sadness in her own green eyes. "They are being attended to. You should rest as well."

Bethany could vividly remember everything she had done while the rage coursed through her. "Maker, what did I just do?" The tears fell.

Merrill flinched, though Bethany was still too much in a daze to know what she flinched at. "Please, ma falon, come with me." Merrill took her by the arm and led her to the top of the hill, past the archers. Varric cast a worried gaze her way as they passed, before continuing the fight. Bethany was led over to the cots where the wounded lay, and she immediately began looking for Aveline and Donnic. As if she knew what was going in Bethany's mind, Merrill said, "They are with the rest of the mages. They are receiving the best treatment we can provide. Please sit down and rest."

There was nothing to do but obey. Bethany knew she was not in the right state of mind to return to battle. She sat on the ground, Merrill by her side, while the sounds of battle continued to rage around them. Minutes passed, and Merrill never left to return to battle either. "Shouldn't you go back?" Bethany finally asked. "I'm sure Garrett needs you."

Merrill looked away, nothing but shame in her expression, evident in her every movement. "I…lost control as well." She held up her arm and pulled back the sleeve, showing Bethany where a fresh cut still bled on her forearm. "I heard Aveline scream, but I could not help. I don't remember cutting myself, but when I came to, Isabela was dragging me away, asking me if I was alright. She told me to go, to take a rest, and that is when I saw you."

Bethany could not judge her for such a slip. Not when she had fallen into such a rage induced trance herself. The two mages sat together, neither talking, while the battle continued to rage down the hill. Neither could see what was happening, and Bethany found herself glad. She did not want to feel the hate she felt just minutes earlier ever again.

* * *

The pain in Hawke's shoulders was gone, replaced by numbness. He swung violently at the Templars surrounding him, hoping to at least draw their attention. Most of the blows coming his way bounced harmlessly off his armor, and adrenaline kept him from feeling the pain of those few blows inflicted on him. Templars surrounded him, and Hawke swung violently at them, keeping them on the defensive and killing them through sheer strength and speed. He wrenched his sword from the neck of one Templar, and swung it into the neck of another. A sword stabbed at him, clanging off his breastplate, and Hawke impaled the man through the stomach. He had to keep fighting. Above all else, he had to keep fighting.

The dead were piling at the bottom of the hill, the Templars far outnumbering Isabela's pirates. When he caught glimpses of the enemy's eyes, he saw fear, and the realization that the battle was lost. The first of them to run were killed by a volley of arrows before they got very far. They continued to flee, in larger and larger numbers, until the only Templars left were those not fortunate enough to receive an opportunity. Fittingly, the last kill belonged to Hawke. Isabela was on one knee, an impossibly frightened young man using his considerable strength to keep her down, holding a sword up to block the blows. Hawke came up behind the Templar, and with all his strength drove his own sword through the middle of his spine, lifting him in the air before throwing him down. The adrenaline immediately began to wear off, and when the cheers started Hawke could no longer stand. His sword fell to the ground, and he followed.

Darkness had fallen when Hawke awoke, in a bed within Isabela's hideout. He heard what sounded like faint music, and glimpsed burning candles on the edge of his vision. A groan escaped his lips, and a moment later a hand was touching his forehead. "Garrett! Oh thank the Maker, how do you feel?"

Hawke's vision cleared, and was greeted by the sight of his wife, sister, and Merrill standing over him. "I'm fine. A little sore, that is all."

"Honestly, Hawke, you could not have waited until we were back here before passing out?" Merrill asked, completely serious.

He managed a weak grin, his eyes slamming shut in pain when he tried to move. "A little sore?" Bethany chided.

"Fine, I feel as if someone has taken a club to every inch of my body and I can barely move. Happy?" He resigned himself to laying motionless in the bed, though the pain did not go away. "The Templars? What happened? The last thing I remember is watching them flee. Did we win?"

Vivienne cupped his cheek with a hand, and it was the only part of his body that did not hurt. "They are gone. We could not stop some from getting away, but by the time any return we will be long gone. We did it, love."

The immense relief he felt helped greatly with the pain. "Thank the Maker and Elgar'nan and any other gods out there." The others giggled, and Hawke could not stop his smile. "What about Aveline and Donnic?"

"Under constant watch, and receiving the best care we can provide," Bethany answered, surprisingly calm. "I cannot say for sure if they will survive or not, but I am optimistic. Their breathing has evened out, their initial fevers are gone, and their wounds are healing. We must wait now, and watch for any change."

It was not fair for the two of them to fall now. Aveline and Donnic had fought so hard, done so well. Without them, Hawke knew they would never have gotten this far. "They will make it," he said resolutely, and without a hint of doubt. "When they do, we will discuss our next move."

Like an idiot, Hawke tried to sit up, and only managed to do so halfway before two pairs of hands gently pushed him back down. Just the attempt to sit up had sapped Hawke of a lot more energy than it should have. "Would you stop being such a stubborn idiot and lay down?" Vivienne said, her own stubborn glare on her face. "Do I have to tie you down?"

"Ooh, kinky," Hawke teased. He received a slap on the shoulder for the joke. "Ow! Aren't you supposed to help me feel better?"

Vivienne was staring a hole through him now. "You'll survive a slap, you bastard."


	16. Chapter 16

"I can do it," Aveline protested.

"Are you sure?" Bethany asked. She was standing by, ready to help if her friend's strength failed her.

"I'm not a little girl, Bethany!"

"I doubt you are that much stronger than one right now," she teased.

Aveline glared at her, arms shaking beneath the weight of the crate she was carrying. "Since when are you as much a smartass as your brother?" She turned back towards the ship, walking towards the gangplank. Bethany continued to follow, watching intently for any sign that Aveline's body would give out. Four days had passed since they drove the Templars off, and two since Aveline woke. She had only gotten out of bed the previous day, yet she was insisting on loading her own belongings back onto the Siren's Call. At some point she was going to hit the wall, and so Bethany was following her, waiting to act if that happened at an unfortunate time. Of course, she didn't tell Aveline that. Bethany was helping load supplies for Isabela, and just doing so very slowly. "Donnic is the one still abed, dote on him."

That darkened Bethany's spirits quickly. Donnic's condition was improving, but he had only woken the previous day and was still not out of danger. He was healthy enough to take the journey to Ferelden, and that was all that mattered. She would have preferred that they give the man another couple of days, but they could not risk staying her that long. "He's fine, for now," Bethany said. "And he has others watching him."

Aveline shook her head and continued towards the gangplank. She only managed to make it halfway before her left leg buckled, and Bethany immediately rushed forward, steadying her friend. Sheepishly, the larger woman thanked her, and the two made their way to the deck. The Siren's Call was bustling with activity, a constant stream of loading supplies. Isabela was reluctantly abandoning her ruins hideout, the Templar knowledge of its existence making control of the hideout too difficult to maintain. The months of supplies kept there were being loaded onto the ship, food and weapons and clothing and medicinal supplies of all kinds. Isabela was planning on staying to sea, where it would be easiest for her to avoid any pursuit, a plan her sea-loving crew was fully behind. Before she recommitted herself to her life of piracy, she had agreed to deliver Garrett, Vivienne, Bethany, Merrill, the mages, Aveline, and Donnic to the eastern coast of Ferelden, where they would take refuge within the Brecelian Forest. Varric had decided to stay with Isabela and her crew in the short term, where he would gauge the possibilities along the Free Marches. It was the best plan they could come up with, deciding that if they were going to take the risk of reaching out to the government of any nation, Ferelden was the one most likely to listen.

Bethany was far from sure about the plan, but its not like she had one of her own. The Brecilian Forest was massive and easy to hide within, and in the even that they were found it would be easy enough to move south into the Kocari Wilds. From there they could hide in the Frostbacks, if necessary. Ferelden was an easy place to hide, that wasn't her issue with the plan. It was the idea of reaching out the King Theirin that she didn't like. Garrett insisted that the King was a friend to mages, having traveled with two of them while helping the Hero of Ferelden defeat the Blight. "If anyone would help us, King Theirin would," he said.

"Or maybe he would be most likely to turn us in, considering he used to be a Templar," Bethany argued.

Garrett nodded. "That crossed my mind. However, he is still our best option, and his recent history suggests he is more likely to help us than turn us in." Bethany could not argue beyond continuing to insist the King used to be a Templar, and she had already made that point.

Sweat poured down Aveline's face by the time they reached the cabin below deck, and every muscle in her body seemed to be straining. When Bethany saw that her face was pale and her eyes glossy, she insisted Aveline sit down. "I'm fine, I just need…"

"Maker's breath, sit down, now," Bethany ordered, as firmly as she could. Aveline slumped to the ground, shocked by the stern tone the mage had used. "It does not make you weak to need help while recovering from days of fighting and a blasted sword wound in your side. Stay here, I will be back with a pitcher of water. If you move, I will make sure you stay confined to a bed like your husband until we leave. Understood?"

Aveline nodded sheepishly. "Understood."

* * *

It was late evening when they finally set sail, under Isabela's suggestion. She insisted had no difficulties navigating the Waking Sea at night, and that they needed to move now if they were going to be sure to escape before the Templars returned. Bethany stayed below with Donnic and Aveline, assisting in treating their injuries, until one of the other mages with healing knowledge insisted she was not needed. Merrill was asleep, Hawke was busy talking to Isabela, and Vivienne, Varric and a few others were in the middle of a game. With nothing else to do, Bethany went up top to enjoy the cool night air. The breeze carried a chill, unusual for the early summer. Isabela's second, whose name Bethany could not remember, was bellowing commands as they navigated a perilous area of the sea, with rocks sticking up out of the surface of the water. Bethany tuned it out as she looked overboard, staring at the pitch black water below.

Garrett came up to join her a little while later, his body language loose, carefree, free of the tension that dominated him for so many weeks. He had two cups in one hand, and a flagon of wine in the other. "We have a few days, we can get drunk tonight," he said after handing Bethany one of the cups. "Right?"

Bethany held out the cup, and her brother cheerfully filled it. The wine was good, better than she had expected. It only took two cups, both finished in silence, for her to begin to feel a buzz. She hiccupped, bringing a hand to her mouth afterwards. "Well, that did not take long," she said. Garrett chuckled and filled her cup. "Good wine."

"Its not Isabela's," Garrett said, stupid grin on his face. He sighed loudly. "I can't believe we won. We actually beat those bastards. Whatever happens from here, we can at least take solace in that. Not that I did this to prove anything, but I hope the mages rebelling in the rest of Thedas gain inspiration from our example."

Bethany took a large gulp of her wine. "Maybe that is what we should do. Hire ourselves out, go to Circles all around and help them defeat the Templars. Spend the rest of our lives fighting for the cause!" Even as she spoke, Bethany was not sure if she was joking or not. While she would never claim to like fighting, deep down she felt a responsibility for those who were dying, even now, because they wanted to follow the example Garrett had sent.

Apparently her brother found the idea funny, as he laughed quite loudly. Or he was drunk. "That sounds like so much fun! Blood and death forever!" He finished his third cup, and immediately refilled it. "You know, I feel guilty enough about what I may have started without being reminded of it. Kindly leave me out of your hero fantasies."

"I was just joking, you ass," Bethany said.

Garrett laughed again, beginning to grow well and truly drunk. "I hope you do not feel pressured into following me. I understand your options are limited, but they do branch beyond my ideas."

"You would never let me go off on my own," Bethany argued.

"I would!" he argued weakly. When she continued to stare at him, he shrugged. "I would try to, anyway."

"And the moment you had any inkling of my being in danger, you would come running after me. It is easier to stay together, so that any danger I face, you won't have to run far." Bethany both loved and hated her brother for that devotion. Another two cups later, and Bethany was definitely drunk. Everything became blurry, her hiccups grew worse, and the sway of the deck beneath her made her stomach began to toss around. "Well, I think I should stop." The protest was weak, and not repeated when Garrett refilled her cup again.

The next day hangover was the worst Bethany ever felt, keeping her confined to her bed with what was technically a headache, but she felt was more accurately described as a war hammer inside her skull, trying to smash its way out. The sight of breakfast and lunch made feel like she would vomit. When she finally managed to eat a bite of salted fish at dinner, it immediately came back up. Even all through the next night, her head continued to pound, and she was barely able to sleep. It was not until the morning after that that she was able to keep down a couple slices of bread. The wind had calmed, and the seas along with it, which made standing up on deck no longer so bothersome to her. She was even able to join in a card game with Merrill, Vivienne, and two other healers. While she played, Garrett came in with a few cups and another flagon of wine. "No," Bethany said immediately. "Never again."

He laughed, and offered some to the others, with Vivienne and one of the healers the only two to take a cup. When he was gone, Vivienne smirked at Bethany. "I hope you learned your lesson about drinking with Garrett," she chided. "I'm surprised you did not already know this."

"I was always 'too young,'" Bethany said. "It pains me, but I did spend seven years away from my brother. I did not realize he was such a heavy drinker. How often does he do this, exactly?"

Merrill brought her hand to her chin, rubbing it as she thought. Bethany found the gesture absolutely adorable, considering the elf did not have facial hair. Something else she picked up from Garrett. "A lot," she said. "And he recovers so quickly, it is really amazing. He was up and about like nothing the morning after you two drank together. I even saw him drink Varric under the table one time. It was amazing."

"If by amazing you mean annoying," Vivienne said, with a roll of her eyes. "I love the man, but I have never met a more annoying drunk. You are crazy to share drinks with him, you were only asking for trouble."

"I didn't know!" Bethany protested. The girls just laughed at her again.

* * *

Years had passed since Bethany last saw the Brecilian Forest, and even then it had only been for a couple of days. Her father had taken her, Carver and Garrett on a week long camping trip, into the edges of the forest. They spent their days walking through the trees, exploring and enjoying nature. At night, they would sit around a fire while Dad told them seemingly endless stories that originated within the large Ferelden forest. Bethany could vividly remember listening in awe, eyes focused on the kind brown eyes and sharp cheekbones of her father. That was thirteen years ago, yet she could remember it and the forest ahead like it happened yesterday. Isabela stopped the Siren's Call a few miles offshore, and they used three small boats to reach the shore. It was only once everyone was there, and it was time for Isabela to leave, that the gravity of the moment hit Bethany. She was the fourth person Isabela said goodbye too, the two women sharing a hug, tears coming to Bethany's eyes. "Stay safe, please," Bethany said. Isabela forced a grin and lightly tapped her on the chin with a fist.

Varric was as aloof as ever. "Now now, no tears Sunshine. We'll see each other again." Bethany managed to hold the tears back, but she bent down to hug her dwarven friend. "I'm counting on you and Vivienne to take care of the rest of these dummies. Especially Daisy, she'll definitely wander off at some point."

"Believe me, I already talked to her about that," Bethany said, grinning.

Bethany watched the boats head back towards the Siren's Call, and continued to watch until the ship was out of sight. Garrett was giving out orders somewhere behind her, where to set up the tents and where to dig the fire pit and who was assigned to what tents. When the Siren's Call was gone and Bethany turned around, she was heartened to see Donnic moving around, helping the less able of the mages set up their tents. He had recovered quite quickly in the past couple of days, Aveline as well. The two of them were exchanging shy smiles, thinking they were unseen. Vivienne was putting up a tent by herself, and Bethany walked over to help her. "Thank you," Vivienne said, the two of them working together.

"Of course. Where's my brother?"

"He and Merrill are scouting the area for food and people."

Bethany could hear the slight jealousy in her voice. "That doesn't bother you, does it?"

"It would be a lie if I said it did not. I know it is only paranoia, but Garrett is a loving, caring person, and I do wonder if feelings may be rekindled out her in the wilderness, where Merrill is at home."

It was silly of course. "You know that will not happen. He loves you, Merrill is no more than a friend."

"Right now. Maybe that will change after hours in the forest together."

Bethany had to laugh now. She never knew Vivienne was capable of such jealousy. "Look at you. You are positively fuming!"

"I am not!"

"You are! Your face is red, your hands are balled into fists, your eyes are narrow. This if hilarious!"

"Oh shut up," Vivienne said, though a small smile told Bethany the woman knew she was being silly.

Later that night, when everyone had finished dinner, each getting a small portion of two deer that Garrett and Merrill caught and somehow dragged back, Vivienne and Merrill ended up together again, sitting on the coast and watching the water. "I have always loved the ocean," Vivienne said, a distant look in her eyes. "My father would take us out on his private ship at least once a year, with no destination in mind. We would just sail and sail, sometimes for up to three weeks. That was probably the only time my father acted like himself, rather than trying to live up to his image."

Bethany always grew sad to hear Vivienne speak of her father. She was about to talk about her own, but now felt kind of guilty, as stupid as that was. "Maybe you should have stayed with Isabela and become a pirate."

Vivienne laughed heartily. "I do not believe Isabela would have approved of that." The two women laughed together at the thought. "You do not need to worry about me, Bethany. If I did not want to be here, I would have stayed in Kirkwall."

"I wish I could say I was not used to this. It has been many years, but I will never forget how to live on the run, and I know Garret has not either. We will toughen you up, soon this will feel normal."

Vivienne nodded. "It already is. Still, I hope King Theirin can help us. It will be hard to stay hidden without his help."

Bethany lowered her gaze to the ground. She still did not trust that this bastard of Maric's would help them. Unfortunately, the choice had been made, the letter drawn up, and sometime in the next two days they would send a messenger, with an escort of five, to deliver it. That would take a few weeks, though, and if these few weeks were the last Bethany would get to spend with her friends and family, then she decided she would enjoy them the best she could.


	17. Chapter 17

This was natural. This felt right. The wind blowing through her hair, the taste and smell of the sea in her nose and mouth, the harsh, uncouth language that her crew used as they worked and laughed, it was everything Isabela had missed out on for so many years. Staying alongside Hawke, and getting involved in all of the various ridiculous things that entailed, had managed to distract her, make her forget just how much she loved the sea, how much she loved being a pirate. And now she even had a purpose to her piracy, which she liked to think made her more of a privateer these days. The risk in going after the supply ships of the Templar armies was great, but the reward was good, both in tangible and intangible ways. Much as Isabela wished she could go back to the good ole days of being a carefree pirate with no care but the plunder she acquired, Hawke had changed her for good. It was not so much that she was incapable of going back to her old ways, but rather that she did not want to. It would be boring, to just attack poor merchant vessels for no reason other than the scraps they carried. Even privately owned ships like the nobles of Kirkwall and other cities along the coast of the Waking Sea were not enough of a challenge.

That's why Isabela, for the third time in the last two months, had ordered her ship after the one ahead, flying a flag bearing the symbol of the Templar order next to another bearing the Orlesian symbol heraldry. They were aware of the Siren's Call presence, but it was already too late. Isabela ordered a broadside shot to the Templar ship's, portside, and her archers launched flaming arrows at its sails. Rowers onboard the ship desperately tried to escape, helpless as the much faster Siren's Call pulled alongside, snapping their oars with a thunderous wooden crack. Her men began throwing grappling hooks and boarding ramps, while the Templars onboard hastily grouped, the fear in their eyes evident. Isabela was one of the first across, daggers flashing in the orange glow of the early evening sun. She was on a group of three before they were ready, bringing her blades across their throats as they were still putting their helmets on. Her crew was behind her, axes and daggers held high and a war cry on their lips. With so much of the ship unready for the attack, defeating them proved to be quick work. The crew was tied up on deck while the ship's supplies and valuables were plundered. One of the new guys tossed an apple Isabela's way, and she sat upon a rail, slicing chunks off as she watched her crew transport the goods onto her ship.

To watch them now, laughing and taunting as they carried crates filled with rations and weapons and armor from the Templar ship, one would never guess at how vehemently they had initially protested Isabela's idea to turn their talents on the Templars. Threats of violence had flung from their mouths as easily and carelessly as the apple tossed Isabela's way a few minutes earlier. For a day or two, Isabela genuinely worried that they would mutiny. After their first successful attempt at raiding a Templar ship, however, all of that had changed. This evening, they had attacked with complete enthusiasm, not a hint of worry or fear. Besides the now three ships Isabela's crew had plundered, they had also done the same to two other Templar camps along the coast, both times in the dead of night, and both times catching the Templars completely off guard. Isabela knew that they would need to disappear for a month or so after this raid. The Siren's Call was becoming notorious throughout the Waking Sea, and Isabela's name was spoken with contempt in every major city along that coast. Every pirate that lived long enough learned when to strike and when to disappear, and it was time to disappear.

Doing so would not be a problem, either. For every city that cursed her name, there was another that celebrated their arrival. In the months since Hawke killed Meredith and sparked the mage rebellion, that rebellion had grown, with many cities following the example Kirkwall set. The mages were not the only ones rebelling, either. Those who sympathized with the cause were siding with the mages, and in some cases leaving their homes to fight elsewhere. Isabela knew of at least three different armies, consisting of young men and women from all around Thedas, who moved from city to city to assist mages struggling to win their freedom. The Siren's Call was a welcome sight in those cities free from Templar influence, the men and women controlling the cities always willing to provide them a safe haven, food, weapons, and a bed to sleep on. Isabela never abused the privileges given to them, too appreciative to do so. She would stay for only as long as it took to re-supply and rest, and even if not quite ready she never stayed more than three days. There was no way to truly keep her presence hidden if she stayed in one spot for long, and these people had enough attention without worrying about having to protect Isabela and her crew as well.

She also seemed to pick up two or three recruits every time she stopped at a friendly port, brave and foolish young fighters who were desperate to fight for the cause. Her crew had initially started out numbering fifty, and despite losses during raids now numbered eighty. It was reaching a point where soon there would not be enough room on her ship for anyone else. Space was already growing sparse, though there were few complaints. Isabela considered whether she should start seizing ships and placing them under the command of the most trustworthy and battle-hardened of her crew. It would be a terrific way to reward service, which would hopefully inspire loyalty as well. It would also allow even more harassment of Templar supply chains. Isabela decided to think on this next time they were in port.

Once all the supplies were loaded onto the Siren's Call, Isabela ordered the crew released from their bonds, set the remainder of their sails aflame, and sailed off as quickly as she could. While the rest of the crew showed off their plunder, Isabela looked through the supplies, anxious to see just how well they made out this day. There was not much in the way of food to be found, mostly just sparse amounts of bread and dried fruit, but the weapons and armor were where the score lay. Longswords, greatswords, axes, spears, all of them appearing to have been recently forged, were gently placed within large rectangular crates and wrapped in cloth. Some had specially designed hilts, with various designs that Isabela recognized from noble houses throughout Orlais. Valuable gems of all kinds, emeralds and rubies and garnets and many others, were placed into the hilts as well. The armor was of the typical heavy plate Templar soldiers wore, easily sold off and repainted. It was a very good score, that would serve as a good present to any city they wanted to hide at, and there was enough there to give away to multiple cities. Isabela's eyes fell on a short sword, designed to be even smaller than typical short swords. She lifted it from the crate, and gave it a few practice swings, testing its feel. She had used short swords before, always preferring to use daggers instead, but this particular sword was lighter and smaller, and its edge was proven when Isabela took at a barrel, the blade sinking past the wood with ease. With a smirk, she slipped one of her daggers out of her belt and replaced it with the sword.

* * *

Vivienne stalked through the woods, her new leather shoes making a minimum of noise. Her bow was in one hand, the weight no longer burdensome. The quiver on her back was full, the arrows newly made. She was using all her senses, hoping for any sign of prey. While there were better hunters out in the woods, she wanted to prove herself. Merrill was leading the way, barefoot as always, impossibly quiet as she navigated around fallen leaves and twigs. It was amazing to see the Dalish woman in her element. All the awkwardness and uncertainty she normally displayed seemingly disappeared, replaced by supreme confidence and a teacher type demeanor Vivienne never knew Merrill had. She had agreed to help Vivienne today, when she told the elf she wanted to try hunting without Garrett. "Not that I don't enjoy being around my husband, but I would rather not have to rely on him," Vivienne explained, outside the tent she shared with Garrett.

"I understand, I would be happy to," Merrill said cheerfully. "Listen to me, and you will be as good as anyone else."

Vivienne doubted that, but she was willing to believe it for the moment. A sound similar to a snort came from somewhere to her right, which was northeast, she believed. Merrill heard it too, and held up a fist, the signal to stop. She then pointed to the right, in the same direction that Vivienne had heard the noise. The two of them stalked quietly, not wanting to alert whatever they heard. The Brecilian Forest was a dangerous place, and one never walked blindly among its trees. Merrill climbed a tree as Vivienne continued on the ground, moving among the limbs as if she had been doing so all her life. She had spent many years doing so, so it was not exactly strange. It was still an amazing sight. The light sound of leaves trampled underfoot continued to grow louder as Vivienne moved along, until the source of the noise came into sight fifteen yards ahead. The fox was small, completely unaware as it nosed through a bush. Vivienne looked up at towards the tree tops, looking for Merrill. The elf held up a hand, signaling for Vivienne to wait. When she gave the signal to shoot, Vivienne carefully pulled an arrow from her quiver, placing it in the bow and pulling the string back. Sweat began to pour down her face, both from the heat of the day and the nervousness she felt. The fox remained unaware of the two people watching it. Vivienne aimed her shot, took a deep breath, held it, and released.

They found the arrow within the bush a minute later. The fox was long gone. "Fucking hell," Vivienne cursed. Merrill blushed and giggled at her language. With every day, she found herself slipping into cursing easier and easier. Garrett's influence, she told herself. Now that he was free of the trappings of nobility, Vivienne was getting to see Garrett Hawke, Ferelden born peasant, a man well suited to life on the run. There was not much of a difference, except that he never had to put on the fake smile and use the overly polite unnecessary vocabulary that a nobleman did. It was quite an eye opening experience for Vivienne, and showed that even around her, Garrett had felt obligated to live up to a certain standard. Free of the pressure to live up to that standard, Vivienne only found herself loving the man Garret was even more. He was truly good, truly caring, and a strong, strong man, both physically and mentally. Vivienne was trying so hard to improve her own capabilities because she wanted to prove herself good enough to be married to such a man, wanted to be a real partner for him. "I do not understand how I missed that," she continued, scowling as she placed the arrow back in its quiver. "I have made that shot on the targets dozens of times now. I could make it in my sleep."

"There is a big difference between shooting a chunk of wood and shooting something that is alive," Merrill said, the teacherly tone in her voice. "I have seen the best shots in a clan falter when the time came to complete a hunt. This was your first try, I have faith that Andruil will bless you with a successful hunt very soon."

Vivienne grinned sheepishly. "So, would you be willing to come with me again in a couple of days?"

"Of course," Merrill answered. She took a few moments to stare up towards the trees, Vivienne knowing from experience that the elf was getting her bearings. "Let's head back and see if the others were more successful."

Thankfully, the other hunters proved as reliable as ever, and a bounty of cleanly killed rabbits and quail were roasting over half a dozen fires. The smell reached Vivienne's nose, and immediately made her mouth water. Garrett was standing at a fire near their tent, his eyes focused on nothing except the pot of stew cooking over the flames. Vivienne placed her bow and quiver inside their tent and stood next to him, happy to see the herbs and bear meat in the stew. She assumed the remainder of the bear had been eaten yesterday. "Where have you been?" Garrett asked, curious not overbearing.

"Merrill accompanied me on a spectacular failure of a hunting attempt," Vivienne told him, looping her arm through her husband's. The smell of the stew had her stomach growling now as well. "We are going to try again in a couple days."

Garrett smirked and nodded. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"I missed my shot by a mile."

He laughed, and Vivienne slapped him on the arm. "That hurt."

"Good. I wanted it to, you jerk."

After dinner, almost everyone sat around the fires, talking and telling stories, and a few went to sleep, sore and weary from a long day of work. Two exceptions were Garrett and Vivienne Hawke, who grabbed their weapons and went off into the forest, using what little light the moon provided to light their way. While Merrill taught her and everyone else the best ways to hunt and survive in the wild, and the mage Lars taught them how to use a bow, Vivienne received training with a blade from no one but her husband. As far as she was concerned, there was no one better, and no one who could teach her more. She had quickly taken to using wearing light armor and wielding a lighter than usual longsword, to better utilize the advantages her size and speed afforded her. She tried heavier armor, she tried using a shield, and she tried using bigger swords, axes, spears, even daggers when Garrett recognized she was best off wielding light weapons and using her speed. None of it ever felt as right as the sword she currently held in her hand.

Garrett started gently, as always, letting Vivienne test her abilities and set the pace of the training. Since she felt both angry over her failed hunt that day, and cocky about her improvement in recent days, she wasted no time going at her husband, ramping up the pace immediately. Everything she was taught ran through her mind. Circle, slash low. Jab twice, parry the return cut. Never get close enough to let your opponent's size and strength become a factor. Move, move, move, wear them out. Keep your cuts precise, measured, aim for the weak points. Garrett began to work up a sweat as he parried and avoided Vivienne's blows, his breathing growing heavier. For a brief, stupid moment, Vivienne thought she was actually getting the better of the duel. She saw the light turn on in his eyes, the twitch at the corner of his mouth. She knew what that meant, and thought she was ready.

The blows came quicker, keeping Vivienne on the defensive. For about three minutes, she was able to continue circling and parrying, Garrett's slashes not leaving a dent. They gradually came faster and faster, high, low, horizontal, vertical, stabbing. A few began to slip through her defenses, the dull edge of Garrett's blade leaving marks that would bruise. Vivienne tried her hardest to keep up, taking every opportunity she could to try and mount offense of her own. The blows began to accumulate on her body, and after a particularly stinging one from the flat of Garrett's blade on her neck, she knelt, her sign that she submitted. There was no use in wasting all of her energy trying to prove herself, only to be exhausted when it was actually time to learn. "Very good, my love," Garrett said, smiling as he helped Vivienne to her feet.

She scoffed at him. "I prefer brutal honesty. There is no need to spare my feelings, it does not serve to help me improve."

"I am being completely honest," Garrett insisted, and the truth in his eyes warmed her. "I was going at much more than half speed the last few minutes, and you showed much improvement. Many men could not hold their own against me at half speed, and you can do that."

Vivienne knew the smile on her face was goofy, but she did not care. Garrett was not one to lie, especially if the only reason to do so was to make someone trying to improve feel better about themselves. "I will not stop training until I am your match," she vowed, not for the first or even the tenth time. She spoke those words after the very first time her husband instructed her, and she had spoken them every time since.

"Then let us begin," Garrett said. Vivienne nodded, and paid close attention as he began his instruction.

* * *

**Two more chapters. I know this will disappoint some of you, maybe all of you, but I am going to end this without Hawke meeting Alistair or the mage rebellion advancing any further past where it is now. I don't really want to cover the entire mage war, mainly because I have no idea where DA3 is going to go with it and I like to think this story is at least plausible within the canon story of the DA universe. In my mind, Alistair would absolutely help, but I don't know if BioWare's Alistair would.**

**So basically, the main conflict of the story is over, and like this chapter and the one before it, the next two will be more closure on what the characters are doing in the aftermath of their escape. I can go ahead and leave what happens after that up to you, at least until DA3 comes out and we all find out.**


	18. Chapter 18

Aveline was the first awake, as usual. She tossed her blanket off, and rubbed both eyes as she set her feet down on the rough carpet covering the floor. Others were stirring within the barracks as well, the early morning groans of protest joining together as they woke. She shook Donnic's shoulder, and he began rolling out of bed as Aveline threw on her boots and left the building. The courtyard beyond was already busy, servants moving to and fro with pails of water, cartons of eggs, boxes of meats, stacks of rags and towels. The morning was hot, almost too hot. Aveline knew it would be a very uncomfortable day, and wished she had drawn night watch so she could at least be somewhat comfortable. She headed for the kitchens first, a plate of eggs and a stale slice of bread given to her when she walked over to the cook. She devoured it, along with a cup of milk, accepted a slice of orange from a guard who did not want it, and once she was done headed for the armory, where she garbed herself in the arms of Dragon's Peak, the plain grey steel fringed with blue, the painted mountain with its peak of blue and white ice on the otherwise plain wood of her shield.

The armament was so far below what she had grown used to, but it was a necessary sacrifice to be sure she did not draw attention to herself. Thankfully, Bann Sighard seemed oblivious to her and Donnic's true identities, or at least pretended to be if he had any idea who they were. After two months, they were still grunts, nobodies, taking what shifts were assigned to them and keeping their mouths shut, drawing no attention to themselves. It was a life Aveline had not lived in years, one free of the responsibility she carried upon her shoulders for so long. To be nothing more than nobody guard walking the streets at night was nice. Sometimes she found it hard to keep her mouth shut, when the men above her in rank would say something stupid or look down on her for being a woman. In those cases, she would take a deep breath, calm herself, and absorb herself in her duties until the anger was gone. It was hard, she could not deny that it was not. She spent six years as Captain of Kirkwall's City Guard, answering to no one except the Viscount and the Knight-Commander. To be back below the common rabble, the lieutenants and sergeants that worked below a castle guard's captain, almost all of them moronic, was a challenge. But she endured, happier here than she would have been staying alongside Hawke.

That conversation had been a very difficult one. Hawke had made it clear from the very beginning that he would not force anyone to stay at his side, but it was still hard to approach him when the idea came to Aveline. They had been camped near Dragon's Peak, and sent some of the more discreet mages, easily passable as travelers, to trade for supplies at a nearby village. While there, Aveline and Donnic came to Hawke together, and explained what they wanted to do. Once they were finished, Hawke listening respectfully, he explained why he wanted them to stay. When Aveline still insisted that she and Donnic wanted to leave, he shook both their hands, smiled, and wished them the best of luck. They left their armor, weapons, and shields, packed their other personal possessions into canvas bags, and slept one more night in Hawke's camp. In the morning, they said their goodbyes one more time, and left, beginning their march to Dragon's Peak.

The story they came up with along the way served more than adequately when they were brought before Bann Sighard to pledge themselves to service. Aveline went by the name of Maria Jawen, while Donnic chose Edmund Braskell. They were from a small village near the Kocari Wilds, which had been destroyed by a large Chasind raiding force. They had combat experience from more than a decade of fighting off Chasind raiders, which allowed them to survive the journey from their village to Dragon's Peak, and they now wished to use that experience to help defend the Dragon's Peak bannorn. The Bann asked them a few questions about where their village was located, how many battles they participated in, what they had encountered along the way, and why those to come to Dragon's Peak. These questions were all answered promptly, with no hesitation, and appropriate details. The Bann welcomed them into his service, assigned them to the castle guard, and had his captain show them to their quarters.

Aveline's patrol that day took her outside the castle walls, into the paths leading up the mountain the bannorn took its name from. In recent weeks, a group of bandits had taken residence along the path, and were proving difficult to root out. There were caves pocketing the mountain, with multiple entrances and exits that made it very hard to corner and eradicate the bandit presence. This was the second opportunity Aveline had received to patrol the mountain, and she was looking forward to it. The way she looked at it, just because she was in hiding should not mean she should always be bored, nor should she pass over opportunities to do good. Her sword and shield went over her back, and she walked to the back gate of the castle, where she waited for the rest of the guard scheduled to join her that day.

Once they were all gathered, the sun having fully risen an hour ago, they made out under the command of a Sergeant Nelson Potts, an aging man with questionable faculties. He was a perfect example of the type of person Aveline struggled with having to follow the command of once again. The march up the mountain path was a slow trudge, made more difficult by the heat of the day. Constant stops to drink water from canteens put them behind schedule, and by the time the noon hour came, they had not yet reached the midway point of their patrol. Aveline seemed to be the only one not sucking wind every ten minutes. When Sergeant Potts halted them yet again, a mere twenty minutes after they ended their break at noon, Aveline had to walk away to keep herself composed. The apologetic looks on the faces of her fellow guards when she returned, except for the sergeant, of course, told her that they felt the same way she did.

The rest of the day continued much the same, and they never even reached the spot they set out for at the beginning of the day. Even as the sun began to set, the temperature cooling with it, Sergeant Potts continued to bring them to frequent, unnecessary stops, as if the very possibility of being on schedule was offensive. Darkness descended as they neared the castle, and the moon began casting its pale glow down upon them. A challenge was called out to them, which Sergeant Potts answered before the gates were opened. Aveline did not miss the disapproving stares from the other guards as they walked by, even if her superior officer did. After a day of nothing going into her stomach but water and tough, dried meat, her stomach was practically yelling at her when she entered the mess hall. She eagerly accepted a bowl of stew and sat down next to Donnic, who was halfway through his own bowl. He dipped a heel of bread into the bowl and took a bite, keeping his mouth closed when he smiled at her. "How was your day?" he asked after he swallowed the food in his mouth. Aveline scowled at him. "That good, huh?"

"I swear that man is the laziest, most unqualified man to ever wear a uniform," she whispered.

"Which man? You complain about quite a few of them."

Aveline chuckled, involuntarily. "Potts. I was part of his patrol today. We were supposed to make it to Dragon's Scale Cave, and we never came close. We just returned to the castle moments ago, I came right here."

"I am sorry to hear that. It must be tough for you," Donnic said.

Aveline chuckled again, much more bitterly. "You have no idea."

The two of them did not talk business the rest of the night, instead sharing stories of what they saw throughout the day. Donnic's assignment that day kept him within the main keep, where the Bann and his family resided. Apparently it had been quite the exciting day. The Bann's youngest daughter nearly split her head open while running up and down the halls, tripping near a set of stairs and just barely being caught in time before she fell by a guard. The Bann's oldest son, a fifteen year old boy with the typical dreams boys his age had of glory in battle, continued to prove to have quite a bit of skill at swordplay. After embarrassing the other boys his age, he had a friendly sparring match with two of the guards, beating one and holding his own against another. The Bann's younger son, and second youngest child, had planned an escape from his room, where he was confined because of an incident in the kitchens two days earlier. He made it as far as the gardens before Donnic personally caught him. "The boy is a tough little brat," Donnic said endearingly. He had always had a soft spot for kids.

"I caught him trying to climb out of his window one time," Aveline recalled. "He actually managed to secure his bed sheets and blanket into a rope long enough to reach the ground beneath his window. He was about to climb out when I walked in and caught him. After he was escorted out of the room to see his father, Once he was gone, the other guards and myself started talking about whether he could have actually climbed out and used the bed sheets to get down, and Reagan actually climbed out to use it. She got in a lot of trouble for that."

Donnic laughed. "I wondered why the Captain was yelling at her so much."

The two of them continued to talk, until a voice rang through the mess hall. "Jawen!" the voice shouted. "Jawen, report to the Captain's office immediately!" Aveline looked regretfully at her half finished bowl of stew, took one more deep mouthful, and swallowed as she left the mess hall.

For all her complaints about those above her in rank, Aveline did like the captain of the Dragon's Peak castle guard, Captain Robin Berric. He was not the smartest, not the most inspiring, not the best fighter, but he was a dedicated man who rewarded those who showed loyalty and did their job well. A tall, lean man, he towered over Aveline when he greeted her within his office. "Please, have a seat, Maria." He took his seat at his desk, Aveline taking the chair across from him. "I understand that the patrol you were assigned to ran quite a bit behind schedule today."

"Yes, sir," Aveline answered honestly.

"Care to tell me why?"

Her throat tightened. "I don't understand, sir."

"Guardsmen Jawen, the bandit problem is becoming quite serious," Captain Berric said. "I intended for Sergeant Potts's patrol to scout Dragon's Scale Cave, because it was a suspected hideout. When I hear that his patrol did not even reach the cave, let alone scout it, I naturally get upset and want to know why."

Aveline kept quiet, knowing that she was facing a situation very similar to what happened with Captain Jeven back in Kirkwall. If she blew the whistle now, she would only bring attention to herself, attention she could not afford. "May I be frank, Captain?" she asked, cursing herself for what she was about to say. Berric nodded. "Potts did not take our assignment seriously. He brought us to constant stops, he did not pay attention, he constantly joked and showed no respect for our assignment. When suggestions were made by myself and another that we hurry, that we would not reach Dragon's Scale Cave in time, he dismissed our concerns as not mattering."

Captain Berric listened patiently. "Who else suggested you hurry your pace?"

"I would rather not say, Captain."

The captain smirked. "I understand. Thank you, guardsmen, you are dismissed." Aveline hurried from the office.

By the time she reached the armory, she was furious with herself. Why in the Maker's bloody name had she just said that? Now Captain Berric would discipline Potts, word would come out that Aveline had opened her mouth, and all the attention she was trying to avoid would now heap down on her. Scenarios where she was woken up, a crudely drawn rendering of herself in the hands of another guardsmen as they realized who she was and dragged her to the dungeons, began to run through her mind. After removing her armor and placing her sword and shield on the wall where they belonged, she was on the verge of full blown panic. She hurried to the barracks, intending to tell Donnic what she did and suggest they run now, before they were found out. When she reached the barracks, she managed to calm herself down, and joined a card game a few others were playing.

The next morning, she was again assigned to patrol the mountain path, again under the command of Sergeant Potts. He treated her no differently than the day before, showed no ill will, and there was none to be seen in his eyes. Unfortunately, he also treated their assignment no differently than the day before. Again, noon came and they were behind schedule. When they reached the same group of trees as the previous day, and it was again clear that they would not reach the cave, Aveline again walked among those trees, trying her hardest not to get in her superior's face and voice her frustrations. She sat down, her back against a stump, moments before footsteps to the north, further up the mountain. She could still see the sergeant and the others on the path, so she knew it was not them. She stood quickly, and continued to listen. The footsteps were coming closer, moving slower. Potts laughed loudly, ending any doubt as to whether the people moving down the mountain knew he and the guardsmen were there. Aveline hurried behind a massive rock formation behind her, and waited.

The bandits came into view a couple of minutes later. Five of them, all men, all poorly armed. Their armor consisted of hides and leather, if they wore any at all. Their axes and swords were rusted, chipped, worn from use. Others would see that and assume these bandits to be poor. Aveline knew that a blade often only rusted and chipped when it was used a lot, and a bandit with a well used blade had probably killed his fair share of do-gooders. She watched as they moved through the trees, eyes focused intently on Potts and the other guardsmen. She slipped her sword from its scabbard, and readied her shield. The bandits moved within fifteen feet. They readied their own weapons, and the one who appeared to be leading them raised on hand, ready to signal the attack. Aveline took that as her own sign to burst from her hiding spot, an alerting cry bursting from her lips.

It was easy work from that point. Aveline took two in her initial charge, and easily held the other three off while her fellow guardsmen closed the distance. They caught one alive, who readily cooperated, giving the location of the rest of the bandit group. Aveline and Donnic were part of the large group assembled to deal with the bandits, and they both fought valiantly in the skirmish. By the end of the next day, Maria Jawen and Edmund Braskell were the biggest heroes in the Guard. Bann Sighard held a ceremony to award their efforts, they each received promotions to lieutenant, and Maria Jawen was under consideration for another promotion in the coming months.

A few days later, Aveline approached her husband with the plan to leave. "They will know who we are," she argued, the two of them alone in the shadows. "I have no idea how they haven't figured it out already, but they will soon. We must run, now."

Donnic was insufferably calm. It made her angry. "We are fine. Even if they know, they show no hint of it. Maybe the Bann does not care."

"Are you willing to take such a risk?" Aveline asked.

"What other choice do we have?" Donnic asked. "Where else would we go? Denerim? Lothering?" Aveline had no answer. "It would be suspicious if we were to just leave. Questions would be asked as to why. Calm yourself, love. We are fine."

Aveline wanted to argue, tried to argue, but her words sounded like those of a raving woman with no reasoning other than her own paranoia. Besides, she had to admit that she was enjoying this life. Away from the Templar-Mage conflict, away from the ridiculous situations she found herself in alongside Hawke, free to live a simple life working her shift and returning to the barracks afterwards. No, she would stay. She would stay and do her job to the best of her abilities, until the day she was either found out or Hawke came calling again, ready to end the war.


	19. Chapter 19

**Final chapter. Thank you one more time to those who read and enjoyed this. **

* * *

Hawke sucked in air, his shoulders and chest heaving. The sword in his hands hung loosely at his side, the point resting on the grass and dirt below. Sweat continued to pour into his eyes, after wiping it from his forehead half a dozen times already. A smile came to his lips, as exhausted as the rest of his body. "That was fantastic, both of you. I could not be prouder."

Vivienne and the mage named Landon were breathing even heavier than Hawke, and stood uneasily from their kneeling position. Landon looked quite pleased with himself, a goofy smile natural to the young plastered on his face. In complete contrast, Vivienne looked angry. No, not just angry, very angry, borderline outraged. Her lips were pursed together, her eyes were narrowed, filled with frustration, and her hand was still gripped around the hilt of her sword. He ignored the look for now, preferring to wait until they were alone, or Vivienne brought it up first. "You are amazing, Serah Hawke," Landon said admiringly. He was a Kirkwall child, with all the terminology of one that spent their life in the city. "I cannot imagine anyone ever being a match for you in a fight. It must take fifteen or twenty men to defeat you."

Hawke laughed. "No, maybe three or four. Definitely three, actually, considering how hard the two of you just pushed me."

Landon blushed, embarrassed. "You are too kind, Serah. I simply hope I continued to show improvement."

"Of course he's being too kind," Vivienne said, calmer but still frustrated. "Two of us, and we could not even dent his armor. I hardly consider making him actually try to be a success on our part."

So that was the source of her anger, Hawke realized. He wanted to take his wife in his arms, but knew she would give him a solid slap upside his head if he tried. Vivienne was proving to be so much tougher than he gave her credit for. "I was trying as hard as I could, as hard as I can outside of facing death. The two of you pushed me harder than any two bandits or Templars ever did. That puts you up there with darkspawn, Crows, and the toughest mercenaries I've ever fought. That is a tremendous compliment."

He was not exaggerating. They started out as usual, with one on one, then training. The one on one had been quite taxing itself. After the training, as was becoming a habit since Landon joined the training sessions, Hawke had both him and Vivienne fight him two on one. He did this not only to help their confidence, but to keep himself sharp. It had not been so hard the first few times. Vivienne and Landon had no rapport, no chemistry, no experience with each other. They got in each other's way, were hesitant to strike because of each other. Hawke found it easy to separate and deal with them singularly. Every time though, they were improved, and made things harder and harder. Tonight had been the toughest fight Hawke had been involved in since fighting the Templars on the stairs leading from Lowtown to Hightown. They attacked together, combining their efforts beautifully to keep Hawke on the defensive. When he tried to separate them, they did not allow it. The only reason he won is because Landon was not as good a fighter as Vivienne. Once Landon was dealt with, he was able to make Vivienne submit. Once it was one on one with Landon, it was easy work.

Hawke's words of encouragement made Landon grin like an idiot, blushing even harder, but Vivienne shook her head. "Alright, we will do this again in two days. Until then, think over your mistakes, and practice." Landon bowed before walking away. Vivienne waited until he was gone, and then planted a kiss on Hawke's cheek. When she turned to walk away, Hawke grabbed her arm and spun her back around, kissing her passionately. "I've rarely wanted you more than I do right now."

Playing along, Vivienne smiled seductively and ran a finger along the breastplate of Hawke's armor. "Oh? Does a woman dressed like a man get your blood pumping?"

Hawke backed away, feigning annoyance. "You know, that insults you more than me. I did marry you, after all."

Vivienne laughed heartily, her breathing still returning to normal from their sparring session. "That was a good one. You win, definitely." She fingered the hilt of the sword at her waist, pent up energy coursing through her. "Maker, you are too good, love. I could swear I have gotten no better, considering how I cannot beat you after all these months, even with help."

"I have been at this much longer than you have," Hawke said. "Still, I would say you are nearly at the point where there's nothing more I can do to help you improve. You have become quite the fighter. If I wasn't such an overprotective ass, I would love to see you in a real life or death fight at this point. Anything less, and I'm not sure I will see what you are capable of."

"Best not to joke about that," Vivienne chided. "We will not be able to run forever."

Hawke nodded knowingly. He doubted their ability to hide through the rest of the winter months. They could not make a permanent camp, because of those in pursuit of them. They could not store much food, because their camp was always moving. They would have to rely more on supply runs into nearby villages, which would put them at further risk. Because of the cold, they moved south, into the Korcari Wilds, and were always in danger of Chasind raiders, having lost one mage in a raid already. For the first time, Hawke was not sure what to do. He considered having the next group to make a supply run plain clothing for them all, so they could try and take up residence in a village somewhere, but they were not exactly inconspicuous, and such a move would bring a lot of risk. King Alistair Theirin had not sent them a response, and for all Hawke knew the king was or already had gathered a force to hunt them down. The hardest time yet was approaching them, and that truth was known throughout their group, could be felt while walking by and talking others.

That did not mean Hawke was ready to give up. Far from it, the camaraderie the group had developed over the past six months made him more determined than ever. "We don't have to run forever. Just until we die or the mages win. I cannot say which is more likely."

"Yes you can," Vivienne said, smirking. "You just do not want to."

It was two days later when the second blizzard of the season came, much more intense than the first. Their aravel was covered in snow, increasing its weight by half again. After an hour of snowfall, they found the nearest cave and took shelter, forced to wait the storm out. The rest of the day and night passed in complete boredom, as Hawke took shelter from the bitter cold. Hostile winds whipped outside the cave, roaring at the mouth of the cave. Somehow, they managed to get lucky enough to twice have a deer wander in the cave in search of shelter, both of which they managed to take down before they could escape. The fresh food helped immensely with the wait.

When the snows ended, they still had to wait another day for the snows to melt enough for them to continue their travels, and even then the snow made those travels difficult. Every day was cold, wet, and miserable. They traveled for another week, aiming to reach a nearby village they had visited two months earlier. Hawke's hope was that the Templars that searched the area then would no longer be there, and honestly they did not have much choice but to go anyway. They needed supplies, and they needed them before the next snowstorm came, or things would be very difficult.

Merrill led the way, as always, her knowledge of the forest and ability to travel quietly as invaluable as ever during the brutal winter months. Without her, Hawke was sure they would have suffered casualties besides those two who died at the hands of the Chasind, just from the dangers of the forests. When she came back, assuring him the way ahead was clear, she decided to walk with him at the head of the group. Behind them, their small aravel, built small due to the lack of halla, of which they only had two, rumbled along slowly. Cold did not seem to bother Merrill anymore than anything else, her level of comfort among nature as high as ever. In complete contrast to the rest of them, shoulders slumped, heads bowed, their bodies hunched in on themselves, Merrill was walking with long, graceful strides, her head held high. She only wore one extra layer than normal, not appearing to feel the cold much at all. "We should probably focus on buying vegetables rather than meat, clothes, and tools," Merrill said.

"Vegetables?" Hawke said, not understanding at all.

"Yes, vegetables," Merrill repeated. "We can do a lot with vegetables. We can plant the seeds, we can use them in stews, they will keep longer than meat, especially in the cold. We could pack them in ice and they could keep for much longer."

"Okay, I will take your word for it," Hawke said. They walked in silence for a while, the day warming gradually, but the cold never leaving. Hawke glanced over at Merrill every so often, amazed at how different she was out here in the wild. More confident, more sure of herself, more forceful in her opinions. She genuinely seemed to relish the role thrust upon her, which was basically as their leader. Or their Keeper, since their lives now were as Dalish-like as humans could live. Merrill had once given Hawke a long, complicated explanation as to everything a Keeper did and how she did none of it, and what she did was more similar to what scouts and hunters did. Hawke still teased her by calling her Keeper Merrill sometimes, always receiving a punch to the arm or slap upside his head in return.

Vivienne hurried past the others to join them, a slight hint of jealousy in her eyes. It was all Hawke could manage to keep from laughing. "Bethany asked to see you," she said, smiling amiably. He noticed her eyes were looking past him, at Merrill. Hawke did not need to be told twice, and left to join his sister at her typical spot behind the aravel. He worried for a brief moment about what exactly would happen between Merrill and Vivienne when he was not there, but Merrill was so nice and so oblivious to Vivienne's jealousy that Hawke knew such thoughts were ridiculous. The Dalish elf immediately began chatting happily with Vivienne, and Hawke's wife happily chatted back.

Bethany was wrapped in three different robes, yet still shivered. "I hate the cold. I always hated the cold," she said when Hawke began walking next to her. "Remember when we had that terrible blizzard in Lothering one year? You and Father and Carver built those sleds and spent all day riding them down hills, then you had that snowball fight outside my window."

"While you were bedridden with the flu," Hawke remembered. "Poor Mother had to stay at your bedside all day. That's the only time we ever had enough snow to stay on the ground all day."

Bethany nodded. "I've hated the cold ever since. I was so jealous." She sneezed, twice, a look of fear coming to her. "Oh no, I better not get sick again." Hawke laughed at her. "Brother, our supplies are low, or morale is waning, and this weather is taking its toll on all of us. We have to get out of this forest, and risk at least a few days in a town. Just a few days, to let those of weaker constitution recover."

"I know, but the risk is too great. The Templars, or bounty hunters, could be on our trail as we speak. They may even be waiting within the towns we go to. I am not opposed to spending a few days within the comfort of an inn somewhere, but we have to be really careful."

Hawke's explanation did not placate his sister. "I'm telling you, brother. We cannot continue this way. The risk may be great, but the risk of staying out her is even greater."

That night, Hawke gathered everyone for a meeting. While the night was cold, no more snow fell, and they were able to get comfortable around a large fire. Seeing their faces for himself, all at the same time, Hawke could see exactly what Bethany meant. The fight inside them was in danger of disappearing. They discussed their next move, everyone getting a say, everyone making their opinion known. The vote was near unanimous, the only strong voice of objection being Merrill's. Reluctantly, Hawke agreed. Upon reaching the next town, they would buy enough regular clothing for everyone, sell goods for what gold, and rent rooms at an inn.

After everyone dispersed, ready to rest their weary bodies for the night, Merrill stood there, angrily staring. Vivienne and Bethany made to leave, but did not when they realized their Dalish friend was not done pleading her case. "I am not doing this, Hawke," Merrill said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "It is too risky, and completely unnecessary. I promise, we can find a safe area and build shelter. All we have to do is buy the supplies I asked for, and I promise we can stay here in the wilderness, where we are safe."

Hawke smiled reservedly. "Merrill, these people have never had to live this way. We can do it, but they cannot. I can also guarantee you that it is far too late to buy supplies in the bulk we need. The first snows have fallen, it is too late." Merrill fumed at him, and Hawke touched her arm lightly, hesitantly. "Merrill, we are not staying in a village permanently, or even for long. Just a few days, so the weaker of us can recover. They need it."

Merrill shook her head, refusing to listen. "I will stay out here, then. I will find shelter, and wait until you are ready to leave." The hurt in her eyes broke Hawke's heart. She was taking this personally, believing the decision to be a mark against her abilities to keep them safe.

"We cannot let you do that," Vivienne said, and Merrill tensed, ready to explode. "I will stay out here with you. That way I can make sure you do not wander off."

Hawke was speechless. "That is not a good idea," he said. "We can't start separating like this."

"We can't leave Merrill out here by herself, either. If she insists on staying among the trees, then someone must stay with her. I volunteer."

No, Hawke nearly screamed. No, no, no. Not this way. This is how it always started. "Absolutely not."

Bethany placed a hand on his shoulder. "Brother, I can find us an inn, and keep us safe. You can stay here with Vivienne and Merrill. I promise we will be fine." He was powerless to change their minds. Hawke knew all of these women very, very well, and knew the resolution in their eyes meant they had made this decision, independent of him. With nothing else to do, he gave his consent.

Very few periods of time in Hawke's life passed as slowly as the five days after Bethany took the others and left for the village. When Bethany returned, everyone in tow and looking back to perfect health, he had to resist the urge to lift his sister in the air hug her tightly. Their travels were different after that. A different energy, a different enthusiasm, more of a spring in everyone's step. All except Merrill, whose melancholy attitude never improved from the moment Bethany walked away, the others in tow. Even when they returned with the specific goods and supplies the elf requested, she offered a grateful smile and nothing else. Hawke approached Merrill alone, three days after they continued their travels, a map of the area in hand. Bethany had procured it from the innkeep in exchange for some pelts. " I was thinking we could set up a camp somewhere in this area," he said, pointing at a spot closer to the Frostback Mountains.

"Okay," she said, not offering any further opinions.

Hawke sighed, not knowing what to say. "Do you agree that this would be a good spot to try and set up some type of temporary camp?"

"I guess. I was thinking more over here," she said, pointing to a spot near the one Hawke asked about. "It's a bit clearer, which does pose some risk, but there's a river nearby. It would be easier to water any crops we plant, and we can set traps to catch game looking for a drink."

"Alright," Hawke said. "That sounds good. Glad you are participating again." Merrill smiled shyly. "I'm sorry if I offended you in any way, Merrill. I never meant to make you feel as if I doubt you."

"I know, I was just being childish." Merrill offered her first genuine smile in days. "I guess I can't shake that habit. I will always have childish tendencies."

"And I hope they never change," Hawke said.

Merrill laughed. "Thank you, Hawke. I'm sorry."

Hawke waved her off dismissively. "No need to be sorry. I've acted childish plenty in my life as well."

Merrill laughed again. "I know. Vivienne and I have been sharing stories lately."

Later that night, Hawke sat near a small fire, watching the activity around the camp. Jokes and laughter were exchanged, food was cooked over fires, games were played. Bethany read to some of the children from a book of fairy tales, accentuating the exciting parts and reveling in the gasps from her audience. Merrill carved a statuette from a small piece of wood, explaining what she was doing to three others. There was no hint of the exhaustion and fear of days prior. It was everything he had hoped for when he ran from Kirkwall. They were not living an easy life, but it was their life, and they were happy.

Vivienne sat on the ground next to Hawke, and rested her head on his shoulder. "This is so nice," she said. "Everyone seems so happy."

Of course her thoughts would be so similar to his, Hawke thought with a smile. "How about you? Are you happy?"

She smiled up at him, and kissed him on the lips. "I am. Far more than I expected to be."

"Good," Hawke said. He continued to watch the rest of the camp, chuckling when Bethany supposedly reached the climax of the story, as the kids screamed and started talking excitedly. "Its beautiful. They are free. Happy. I can only hope that they can be truly free one day, free to live in a home and raise a family. Free to stop hiding. Free to enjoy life the way everyone else can."

"They will," Vivienne assured.

Hawke put his arm around his wife, holding her close. She wrapped her arms around him as well. "Maybe when this is over, and we have won, we can build ourselves a home somewhere, have a few children, live a simple life. Assuming you will still enjoy living off the land this way."

"I cannot imagine that changing," Vivienne said. "I love this. Maybe its only because this is all so new to me, but I've hardly ever enjoyed myself more than on nights like this, when we can relax by a campfire and hold each other. Maker, I really do love you, Garrett. You are the best man I have ever known."

Hawke blushed, holding his wife closer. "I love you as well, madly." The two of them kissed. "At least until you finally manage to beat me during our sparring sessions. Then I will hate you." Vivienne laughed, and slapped him on the arm.


End file.
